after enough loss in life — of loves, of dreams, of anything
you might find yourself like this
a branch, denuded on a shore
worst are the revelations, though
a bride stripped bare by her bachelors
even
left nothing
left with nothing
not even a little scrap of gold
he’s making you sell it
some lost lock of childhood
some little silver spoon you had in your mouth — that he never had
~
it’s at that juncture
where something in your soul starts to shake
something alights akin to fire
~
at the bottom of the pit in the sadness
what you realize is what she always taught you, your mother
that we come in to and out of this world alone and the exit always waits if you want it
what I’d say though, to a fellow traveler, is
that nothing will remain in the end
once you’ve seen the sweep of your mother go away
her legion possessions
your whole way of being washed away in the tide
like so many objects you’re going to carry forth
~
on the phone as your voice shakes calling the dealer
he’s asking about candlesticks and silverware
and your whole elegant simplicity
inheritance of a generation of three women, passed down at last to you
a bloodline ended
~
you’re gathering your silver spoons
you’re noticing the ruse
~
when he married you he said
“how you used to walk by, with your nose in the air like that”
it occurs to you just what you’ve done
and the mistake is a tremor
a faultline
an edge
a sacrifice
a hatred
a door
that slowly opens
~
“the soul stripped bare” — copyright 2011 — all rights reserved
VALENTINE BONNAIRE - WRITER 