they commanded--
the tiny white moths
that fluttered
in my bones shaking
me, fear insufficient
a term--
black fury, loathing
but a gauze curtain
falls, the scene afloat
behind it--
a dance in silence
the mouth frozen
in a grimace
between a smile
and moaning--
twist deeper
into the couplings
meant to wash out
the remembrances
so that finally
he could say
in truth,
no one else will ever
do that to you again,
indeed a truth
as the trapped moths
flew from the husks
of dreams and I
would never catch them
again, never retrace
that trajectory
the view finally opaque
with time, the bones
still and cold
hardly a ripple
but dig deep
into the ash
a knuckle bone still hard
may be sifted out
laid gently on the urn
too thick to burn wholly
just minerals now--
of archaeological
interest only.
Author Bio:
Emily Strauss has an M.A. in English, but is self-taught in poetry, which she has written since college Over 300 of her poems appear in a wide variety of online venues and in anthologies, in the U.S. and abroad. The natural world is generally her framework; she also considers the stories of people and places around her. She is a semi-retired teacher living in California.