Tuesday, February 2, 2016

A diamond short, a decade late

A diamond short, a decade late
I come to stand outside your gate
Unlock and open, let me in
Forgive me, love; what is my sin?
I fled from you across the land
But now I ask you for your hand
A decade late, a diamond short
I can't imagine why you snort
My limbs are frail, my breath is cold
I must admit I may look old
I fall, I kneel, why
I implore

You are the woman I adore
I feel so weak, I feel so brittle
Don't touch! I may be impotent a little
You loved me onceor so I thought
Stop! Take your fingers off my throat

I painted Late Lover from the point of view of the girl he had left behind. She and you, the observer, are one, looking at this flamboyant skeleton. At long last, he claims to be yearning to come back to her. A blue cape is flung around his shoulders, which allows the eye to stay with him, rather than drift off to the background, seen in the spaces between his flimsy ribs. He lays withered flowers at your feet, and the ring being cast off your finger, straight onto his head. The words 'A diamond short, a decade late' are carved into the door frame, perhaps with your fingernails, scratching letter after letter over the long-drawn-out years of waiting, waiting for him in vain... 

Having painted him all day, the voice of Late Lover came to me at night. The next morning I wrote his poem down in a single breath, and never made any corrections, never replaced a word or adjusted the rhythm--because it came to me completely ready.

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"HOME is an invitation, a very personal one, and should not be passed over."
~Grady Harp, Hall of Fame Reviewer


  1. Replies
    1. Oh great Charlene! Had a lot of fun with it, both painting and listening to the voice of it...

  2. What a great fun read! I was totally caught by surprise with the last line. You have so much talent. Thank you for sharing. Adron. http://aedozat.com/

    1. Thank you Aaron, the piece was fun to create and so was the poem :)