Wednesday, February 16, 2011

FFF - Cycle 18 - Raw

A poem submitted for Flash Fiction Friday.
Prompt: PHOTO (below)

Genre: Open
Word Count: Approximately 1,000 words
Deadline: Wednesday, February 16, 2011 4:30 pm EST




There's a worn patch
Where my elbow-through-denim
Bruised the body
As I strummed.

A tiny blood stain
Rests near the first fret
Left by my ring finger
When we played all night.

And I broke a tuning key
Trying to run for cover
When the rain startled us
That day in New York.

You remember how it felt
To strum, to sing, to unify?
We transformed ourselves
Into aether and atmosphere.

We were breathed in
By gods who breathed back;
Our muscles remembered,
Our minds unfettered.

I touch the neck and brush the strings
And memory echos back
Through the body in faint waves.
It's almost like you are here.

And I am grateful for
Whatever whiff breezes by
Carrying with it your scent,
As proof I haven't forgotten.

Your absence dims my senses.
I can't fly without you.
But I can be a person
Who knows what music feels like...or knew.

If you are gone, you're gone
But not without a trace
I present my soul
As evidence.

7 comments:

  1. Very whistful and lonesome, I like it. You have such a pretty way with words.

    Doc

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  2. Very sweet and seductive all at once... well done!

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  3. How beautiful. So full of wondrous memories and paralyzing grief at the same time. I'm not sure why, but I felt myself tearing up at the end. I sense that whoever has been lost cannot be regained but touching the guitar will keep the traces alive. This is wonderful.

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  4. Your usual top notch stuff, Flan!

    Wistful and beautiful - I particularly liked 'We were breathed in by gods who breathed back; Our muscles remembered,Our minds unfettered.'

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  5. I apologize, should have dropped by sooner.

    Very well done!

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