The Visitation

[lostsoul]

In dark's grey half light a static plume, black, powdery

particulate. I can still see, recall its shhhh, sound like

shells, far away breathing, indistinct. Yet the memory's so vivid.

Let go of them it seems to say, let go.

Shape was a-bomb. Meaning, Iris. White hair and cancer face

slippers and pearls, lightly fingered, no no, not always like this

except once when her words leapt at me like fire

for upsetting mother, she said, vent your venom

vent it like, a sigh, remove it like a mussel, winkle, oyster.

Softness from the crust. I ran from her, ran with slow legs,

tired closed eyes that palpated with the plume's echoe.

I am always running from the past. Find, unexpectedly,

your outline in the bed. With your hole of mouth you gape,

as I scream, vibrating with alarm. We shatter. I awaken.

Recover myself, alone, skin, minutes later, heaving, wet as

the window with beads of sweat, fear gripped and overwhelmed.

[Alexa]

You have a great way with words.

:wub: