Upon Waking Up in the City She Used to Call Home
Still Life With Umbrella
after Jean Hélion
The widow doesn't believe
what she has become; nothing
was wrong. The arrangement of things
as if you'd never gone,
and her plans hang in the space
beneath the cieling, fill the vents
with the faintest shafts of light—
She hears footsteps now,
shoes stumbling down the hall
catches her breath as they near,
says your name to herself,
but he doesn't stop
and when a door that isn't her own
clicks shut she asks you
"Hello?" and though you don't reply,
looks at the mess you left behind
and doesn't feel alone—
Is that still life? Is that still life?
I feel like this has a more important meaning that I can understand, but I still think it's beautiful. Totally digging it.
i LOVE the way you wrote this. It's half poetry/ half song. really nice :)
This is a smoke great style poetry on.
lovely. your images are very clear. it could be longer, even.
Thanks for sharing,good article.I like it,I’m looking forward to read other articles.Awesome topic, like it!
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