Judy Melchiorre
Umbrarum*Today at the cemetery,
worn stones, smudged engravings, in harmony with the fall of leaves, yellow and brown, the grass surrenders the last of its dun, all is muted as the summer declines. Demeter in despair, ashen, the gray of weathered sails. Darkness stretches to its full length, Spirits shake off the dirt and speak in a language only heard by those who dare to press their ears to the veil. *Latin, of the shades lately...anxiety no longer bound,
she runs out of words, cannot finish conversations, stares into spaces, scattered, broken; fragments flitter, her memory sheds: a familiar name misplaced, a point lost to a tangent. She views herself, dizziness, fear, she seeks... The SeamMy summer, slim in money, rich in time
serendipitous for stretching the space between awake and asleep. Full of fantasies, hallucinations, I hear many languages, intertwining, periods of history collide, overlapping, characters engage and depart, plots weave together and come undone. My drowsiness saturated, some bits within my grasp, while others hidden in a crevice, in the seam between reality and dreamery. |
UntetheredHe stares at the stranger in the back room,
who wears the same pajamas every day, talks to the mindless television, describes busy-ness yet does nothing. She takes her pills with sips of water, gasps small breaths of air, eats half a sandwich. She speaks of demons with sharpened claws, he sees no devil-spirits, only an untethered cast to her eyes. Counting Backwards
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