Tuesday Tunes [On a Thursday] – Poetry Through Music, #30, 2015


[Image by Rhyn Williams]

[Inspired by Foreign Fields’ “Little Lover”:]

Lying on the floor, cold

and dirty, shivering not

because of this, not because

of her near nudity, but the shock –

realisation he wasn’t coming.

Hand outstretched across the floor,

palm up and waiting, shaking,

she grasped but darkness

and only the shadows embraced her.

Lying on the floor, tears

running down his cheeks,

tracks of sorrow tracing his pain –

realisation she was gone; taken.

His hand lay, palm up, against the floor,

eyes taking in scuff marks of struggle.

Instead of air, he wished he held

her hand, in his, together again.

Her body aching, beaten

and bruised by her captor, she rued

not this,

but the day she’d left him.

Her fingers traced a memory

of his skin across the floor.  Her tears

moistened and mixed with the dirt,

cheek sliding down to breast

as she curled into foetal position.

She sobbed wretchedly.

They’d lain here only two weeks

ago, wrapped around each other,

never letting go.  Sure of their 

love, their life; everything.

This new loss was

a knife in his gut:

he curled himself into a ball

to block out the pain, cheek 

sliding against the signs of her fight,

her will to survive.

All because of him.


Opposite sides of the city, yet

connected, these two.

The stolen and the bereft; still

they exist as one, mirror image

cruelly fractured.

[Copyright © N R Nolan 2015]