Liquid Silver

When I was younger, I would write very long stories. I learned by doing this. I also had a ‘wordy head’ connected to lots of thoughts. Now, I want simplicity. To use less words while still expressing those thoughts. I don’t want to follow rules. Formulas are boring. I want to feel what I write. And experiment. Always.

Do you experiment within the work you do?

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A man is born on an amber sea

set adrift in a boat built from hope

towards a dark island on this cold ridge of morning

where his world is a glossary

stitched and bound with ragged cloth beneath mounds of paper.

A rumpled sheet

a metal chair

peeling paint on the wall.

 

His world is grieving but to him life exists

remnants floating while the rain dances

early spring at the door

silken moon in the window

a soft tattoo of light falls helpless

woven through rumors of dust and blood.

 

No gods come for him

angels do not speak his name

what is permanent are relics, fragments of who he was

the words he has spoken and abandoned

his fleeting glimpse into the serenity of chaos

and when he dies there is no one to mourn.

 

 

‘I have heard that ghosts can live again

as vapor downtown

flowing like liquid silver

as they move through empty houses

on lonely streets

in stories told now forgotten.’

 


‘Liquid Silver’ (c) 2022 Deborah McMenamy

All Rights Reserved

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