(Continues from Tantalizing)
I tasted her misery on the wind.
It was wet with a sense of things ending.
In the gathering dusk where life begins,
a baby’s tears taste like peppered shirring.
From keep away signs to a sailless boat,
My search for stories leads to a scapegoat.
There she huddles, dressed in white the salt spray made translucent. But the sight fails to arouse me. I pity the poor creature. She turns her back on the sun breaking through the clouds as black birds caw and circle. Maybe they’re vultures waiting for the maiden with streaked mascara to die.
Hers is a sad story. An immigrant’s tale of woe and one I struggle to understand. She speaks no language I can understand. In life, I learned few and in death none at all. Who needs speech when the mind can pierce all veils?
Concentrating hard on the girl, I tease images from the tumult. The dry taste of red wine, a spicy bite of sausage melts on my tongue and a sip of a sweet latte washes it all down. Her tears are turmeric. Her grief’s curried over a bed of bitter greens as she lays herself out on a grassy patch to wait. For the final feast, she’s prepared. She’s got a bun in the oven, and an illegal stash wedged up where the sun doesn’t shine.
When the wind pushes me away, sending me back to my search, she’s stinking like a mule rotting from the inside. And it’s time I moved on. Her story failed to save her. How could it save me?
For OctPoWRiMo, 31 poems in 31 days–all part of one story. Watch me do it.
All 31 prompts are pictured below.
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