in the middle of the night
they wake her
she remembers pieces
of her past
tall grass
in the yard
a house
full of light
the somber sounds
slipping
through transom
windows
and her mother's
garden dress
how they wander
through her world
when they get up from
their bleak beds
and allow
her to surface
how they never
know
they are dead
Jan Darrow is a graduate of the University of Michigan and currently lives in Michigan with her husband and daughter. She has always been interested in the paranormal and finds abandoned places utterly beautiful. You can view more of her work at: jandarrow.blogspot.com.
I like your poem. It is brief but effective. After googling what a transom is, I was better able to appreciate your imagery. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad you enjoyed!
DeleteJan, your poem sets my mind racing. The use of words such as "Transom" just add more detail for me and like "first name last name" above really and to the mental imagery your prose creates in my mind.
ReplyDeleteOn a separate point English/American spelling throws me, it makes me pause ... however; that is my issue and does not detract in any way from the context or content. In fact it forces me to re-read and reconsider the content, which has to be a bonus!
Thank you once again Jan, for making me take 10 minutes out of a busy day to enjoy and consider the written word in all of its simplicities and complexities.