Ceiling Fan
The lazy old wooden fan
worked his tired arms
twisting ‘round ‘n ‘round
Straining against the hot air
trying to push the room’s heavy
layered heat into motion.
The still air resisted
hesitated
trapped within flat walls
Dead air suspended
hanging it be
as stagnant
as were his parting words.
Today though he be gone,
the slow fan blades of his betrayal
still turn ‘round ‘n ‘round,
wringing my heart daily
His stuttering words of good-bye
cutting more deeply
with each turn of thought.
Now I be nothing
but a heavy heat
of dead-ed air
Holding the broken
of my stagnant
heart.
Copyright © Sarah Ann Jullion | Year Posted 2023
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