In Darkness, Memory
The air was dark orchid,
I saw, peeking through x-ray contacts, fixed fast over dilated pupil,
Standing still in that stagnant sarcophagus, usual.
And all around, a vague, inky haze.
In the rocker she rhythm-creaked to a well lodged lyric,
Trapped for the twenty-year absence of kisses to a spent spirit.
Through transparent skull I marked notes, brain-embedded, so deep they were automatic,
Pitch-perfect, but enigmatic.
I saw static withdraw to the roots of parched hair,
With ashen streaks slipping through splintered beams, drifting dawn everywhere.
All the while her cruel throat demon surfaced to lips,
Ever promptly suppressed with dainty diet-acid sips.
And he was a paragon, numb in the legs,
Lungs lying through ivories, the measure of nest eggs.
Hands, draped over plaid-swathed wood,
Admitting defeat, waning dreamless and weak.
Sunlight ripened and bloomed into pitch black repose,
So my toes gripped the boards tightly where I stood frozen.
And well without warning I glanced through debris,
Their ghastly pale, heartbroken eyes flick to me.
Some startling, pure panic was trickling freely,
Like tears from my irises over my body,
Wrapping me wildly in dim waves of horror, so vast I could no longer see.
Then veins constrained.
Bones caving, feet feeble, sunken sockets cradling tears.
I felt tempered rainwater welling; smelling warm and sweet;
Saw the slow stir of a storm - electricity illuminating those lungs.
Her tined teeth were now clenched like his fists should have been.
And my hand in the bag at my side,
Brushed over a little surprise -
A case which I opened in search of Goodbye;
A place to escape to where I could clear cries.
But within, x-ray contacts held hard to my eyes, still floating in saline…
I walk through the dark orchid fields. Sickly sweet and careless, they bloom all around, those dingy memories of my past being fostered by them. She sloshes around, sugar-syrup, and already dead, choking out the weeds in her way, of which the heartiest were He and I. Now we’ve been starved, shriveled up, and the memories aren’t fading… they’re staying; making clear why we’re hollow, hollow, hollow.
- Amy Strom (2014)