There is a whisper in each soft staccato
breath bringing awful ambience to the dying room
(she is crying now for death
of him will be the death of her
(she has a longing for the life of him.))
How odd it is til two weeks past he was
the man of her, all fit and strong, a belonging
of togetherness and then a stumbled
foot, a fall from grace meant
the end of all of it.
He is dying now and she is she
thinks, grateful for the rush of time, that
pain is not a part of it. She sits
and thinks of this sucking
in each soft staccato breath.
There is a certain peace to this (she thinks) til
suddenly (as if full of angst) he rises
from the bed and restless now he paces floor.
This weakens her equilibrium and she thinks
him an antagonist of acceptance.
(She is sick of herself for this.)
And then he dies.
(Her fall is in the death of him.)
Anna :o]
Today at dVerse De Jackson asks us to become enamoured
with enjambment. Cheers De Jackson! Above is my take – which may be enjambment or
not!
Image: Courtesy
of Wikimedia Commons
Author:
Exploti
