the pink heart shaped glass bottle
lets the morning light through
where it prisms on the ebony dressing table top
devoid of the faux perfume it contained
all those Christmases ago
in pride of place next to the atomizer
with its red tassel containing the perfume I favour
I suspected it was bought at the corner shop
dusted off with love and care
and wrapped with more Scotch tape than paper
protecting the unadorned surface of the glass bottle
its stopper thoughtfully encased in some plastic substance
now brittle with the passing of time
unstopping the bottle and with it
the imagined sillage lingers at memory’s edge
transporting me back
to the innocence of the formative years
the sky was the limit
the shifting prisms of victories and failures
the scent of Life
I was not with him when he died
Though he was not alone
His friends were riding right beside,
Their flesh torn from the bone.
Fuel oil and some fertilizer
Plus a dollar blasting cap
One enormous atomizer
One gigantic thunderclap
Low tech weapon in a ditch.
Can't distinguish which from which.
Indiscriminately murders
Fighters, biters, camel herders.
No one saw them when they died
I should have been there by his side
My heart was all he had of me,
My tears his love will never see.
The fuel oil warms my house today
The fertilizer, stashed away
To feed the plants when I'm away.
The blasting cap awaits in kind
In the ditches of my mind.