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Whispers to Isabelle

Member since 2002 · Posted 1 Jun 2006 · 2 comments

Her face in the Loch, stretched laughing beautiful, whsispering my birth name (Joseph). Her face in my wing mirror, shrinking sobbing contorted, screaming my real name (Bastard). Her body on the ottoman, naked fragrant moist, screaming Godâs name. Her body in the soil, dressed rotting bone, staring at your name (Isabelle). My hands on the ottoman, silent solitary folded, whispering Godâs name whispering her name. Itâs all about prayers and whispers now.

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2 comments

[10] Dovina 1-Jun-06/7:40 AM Reply

This looking back and seeing him in every reflection and distorted mirror image has got to stop. You're no help with that. Good poem.

[9] lmp 1-Jun-06/3:21 PM Reply

please pardon me, but isn't the ottoman an exceptional place for lovemaking? mm!

seriously, this is one of those owrks that really hits home with its simplicity, or rather its spartan nature. by using a few choice workds, you convey the sorrow wonderfully.

it is interesting that you remember her both happy at you and unhappy with you - and then in ecstasy with you (make up sex?) - in that order.

my only suggestion for this is to use a different verb for the last line in S3; you already used "screaming" for the angry image, so maybe a different one for the ecstatic one...

otherwise, top notch... and my condolences.