Fanny Brawne (the muse)

What would we writers be, without our muse?

Fanny Brawne

by Erin L George

 

"Hope and results are different,"

one doesn't necessarily proceed the other

and so

she tried to bring comfort to a dying man

by cutting the mustard ribbon

from her sister's dress

and tying it to a basket of homemade bread.

She was John Keat's muse

and didn't know the meaning of musing.

There was something very perfect in the brashness of her tongue

the way she'd twirl her hair

and proceed to sink her fangs into his poetry.

She couldn't even write at all - preferring to stitch silken tutus

for her ballerina sisters,

too clumsy to dance herself. The truth was in her slippers.

The dying man, Thomas Keats, was showing no signs of improvement

and guests gobbled up the bread before he could lay his tired eyes

on her ribbon.

"Nothing seen or felt but a great dream," critiques said.

"His repetitions set you up to fly ... with the lightness of a cloud."

She sharpened her teeth, biting in

eternally cutting sashes alone in her room,

wishing on bright stars.

Thomas finally died

she retreated to her room, to her white embroidery

and he read of the "strange situation" of walking,

holding someone's hand:

Fanny Brawne.

Reviews

[Tara♥Undefined&h..]

wow I love it. Amazing!!