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Love in the close
Death - the still air stagnant with his death
I see the lady, shattered on the floor, no breath.
Dare I touch her, reach out? I can’t - I do,
Cold eyes, a blank stare, soul flown, the ghost of you.
She halts, the ingrains in her cheeks blowing
blooms like beacons, her heart is showing.
I pull her, entice her, and bring her near,
Trap her; iron tight, the beat of her unravelling fear.
The case so bound, so wound, tight and close -
cracked. Just once, and bare eyes turned morose.
Only then, could I see the fissures, attempt the start,
The start of stitching together her broken heart.
Bethany Chipperfield
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