When the River Went Away – Take III: A Gothic Halloween

A half open window

Buffeted by wind

Creeping through doors and cracks

Of a hollow house standing tall

In golden seas:

.       Hosts of October’s departure.


Wind shuffling papers off a dusty table

Scattering and sliding along dark wooden floors.


On the table, the long swoop of her fingers

Catches the last, late sun:

.      Bony knuckles in pale skin.


Little games the wind plays:

.     A back door slams shut,

.      Sneaking open again.


Her eyes, silent and empty:

.    A blank stare across fields of time

.     Become rusted playgrounds.

At just the right angle:

.     Sparkling. Just then.


She’s sat here for a hundred years:

.     Maybe longer,

Beside this window to the wind.


Messages, there are none

Until a warm gust,

Catching her grey hair,


Sprawled fingers curl then loosen


Warm tidings rippling through the grass

Knocking on a window

Where she’s waited for so long.


On a gust, the door flies open

Like a deep breath through the rooms

And for just a moment

The faintest, sweetest smell,

Like wispy memories of life,

She thinks.


Now the sudden hush of stillness.


All so warm and easy

This tall house, leaning on years

Fingers grasping for the last of the light.


And the warm, sweet smell of her passing still lingers here

As October’s stories scatter across dark skies and warm winds.

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