Thursday, December 17, 2015

Poem for Thursday 13


I only know that you have been here
by the swirl of dust motes rising
on a shaft of sunlight.  There is
a hollow place within the air
that but a moment earlier held
flesh and bone and breath.
I put my hand into that place
like a hand into a wound.
I smell the scent you always wore.

And in the distance
an unlatched door,
banging in the wind.


  1. That was someone in a hurry to get out. Thief of TV/computer/etc or thief of heart?

    Great poem. My tt is here:

  2. Seems a wee bit depressing -- just who or what was this thief? My T13

  3. smiling her best (inscrutable) Mona Lisa smile...

  4. Left, lost or dead because death can be that sudden. Evokes mood and mystery.

  5. a long time ago I found what amounted to a poetry prompt (you might want to play with this one) that asked us to evoke the five senses in a poem. This is what came out.

    It took me this long to understand what the last three lines really meant, beyond "hearing".

    I love that phrase of yours, Colleen, "Left, lost or dead"--in conjures up all kinds of possiblities.