Friday, November 18, 2016


© Residue

Beats of familiarity closed the door and
Set the stage for catastrophe;
A harsh quietness from his lips filled the room,
And she watched the road slip away from the map.

His sails remained hoisted and rippling,
As though he was a new ship in an old sea, but
She waited for the muzzle to be loosened from
The jaws of the man who no longer desired her.

Controversy labored like a martyr
Chipping away at skin as thin as white-wash paint;
Her glass was left half full, tears of wine next to it, and
Her love held on as tightly as a wrinkle in linen.

A cold, engraved slab of marble,
As cold as the man who spilled like a puddle
Of heartlessness, could never tell the story
As honestly as a patched hot-air balloon.

Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved

(The Paradox of Confession, 2012, oil on linen, by Matthew Hindley)