Incarcerated

Her eyes are vacant as stone statues

that cause me to flutter around her like tiny

birds afraid to land. They dance against the wind,

nervous leaves receiving intel.

 

Her shackles conjure walls.

They fix her to the earth, where I am free to fly.

She looks past me.

I am a voyeur, not a friend.

 

Her memory draws a line

only her own blood can cross.

Shame is thicker than water.

My letters cannot bridge the divide.  

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i see this more as someone close who has dementia and is shackled to her own loss of memory...
living in her own little world...and it makes the speaker so uneasy...

even if that is off base...i like where this poem took me...

j.

[Kristina Moulaison]

It does totally work for that, yes. Thank you, Jacob!

[Creepy Swine Guy]

This is dense with feeling, and emotion, and maybe ... a wisp of longing. I really feel the Chasm.

[Kristina Moulaison]

Thanks! I just remembered what it was about.

[Andy Walker]

This journal might be looking for poems like yours!

http://theweirdreader.com/#

[Kristina Moulaison]

Hey, thanks!