Blessed Sacrament

[jbstillwater]

"Ravana" by Janet K. Brennan

Who is she,
etched, stretched
half back from another side.
Pursed lips, memories gone,
caught in synapse.
Empty arms stretch
across miles of unpainted
space. She laughs, her fingers dripping,
bleached -white from falling through
chalk gardens,
always her favorite.
They hide in dusty places,
‘round cracked corners
where she wrote words.
A melody played
that swept her heart
across ivory keys,
memorizing a song of life.
Her scapular - a gift,
hangs on a nob, rusted
glowing in dark.
She sighs and prays.
Not here, not there.
What moment
to squeeze the last
that forges
aroad of regret
and shapes the mind
to forget.

[Lisa Arnold]

excellent write Jan, I enjoyed the read!

thanks for sharing:)

[johan]

That's a different drawing Jan, nice abstract sculpture, again a poem that has much depth, always good to read you Jan.


Andrew

[jbstillwater]

Thanks for stopping by to read
huggs-Jan

[purplespirit]

Great essential poem Jan and I can't say what I love best, poem or drawing. Thank you. Ulla xx

[michaelgallatin]

Found this pretty, well-penned though to me bittersweet. If this once again refers to who I believe it does, perhaps grown "misted" by time and loss but definitely (as this sweet poem attests to) far from forgotten.

Mike

[jbstillwater]

Thanks guys, sort of Mike, but really about all of the religious orders who have given their lives in the name of God. I went to Catholic Schools.

Huggs-Jan