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The Empty Room
Alone the bones of the room bear no weight
of responsibility nor does it bare its breast of secrets
a broken pane provides a breath with a pang of lavender
a wistful inhale inhabits the lungs of this space
as the room tries to embrace oh embrace the breathing breeze
and squeeze a semblance of life into this place
but the breeze a gypsy whisper-warm needs freedom to come
and sweep the sun-dust into swirls of pinprick-stars then go
not beholden to bones stoic and standing still nor to dust
stranded midair to fall in despair abandoned
with less a good-bye as bygone laughter and lullabies
are held on lath-tongues behind horsehair plaster walls
but mute memories mingle in dust like fireflies in dusk —
her suckling coos rocking chair nights plashes of mud-puddle tears
a colored canvas that minions of time would rather gesso white
in its bones the room remembers its worth as a womb
that nurtured a baby’s breath neath blue-skin skies where rows of purple grow
till Mistral wind blew cold and flew her lavender innocence far from home
oh the loss of life wind-crashing-seas-onto-rocks loss of life
—skeleton ribs of a crib stripped of its lavender sprig loss of life
Copyright ©
Susan Ashley
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