Saturday, 8 May 2010

POEM: Cube of blue

In this aquarium room;

metallic bile rises

- Yvonne’s death at

thirty-five, a red-ribbon noose,

marriage meltdown - loss

climbs on loss, like rats

scrabbling on rats


in this blue cube...


where the only sweetness

rising is the scent

of sawdust, a reminder of a time

before cubed blue.


Catherine Mark


5 comments:

Christine Robinson said...

"red-ribbon noose"

The analysis before the desperation. This poem has a sense of foreboding... unsettling dread.

Something about death at thirty-five. Only a year younger than my brother when he died.

Powerful piece.
~ Christine

Christine Robinson said...

And hot off the press, too, I see.

(Get 'em while they're hot!)

It came up on my reader just as I was finishing. :-) I didn't want to wait 'til it was cold (or I was cold) to comment.

CR

JM said...

Hi, Catherine!

Off the beaten track in August might be a little difficult here... :-)
I don't know what kind of holidays you are planning (countryside, beaches, etc), but you can start by checking this:
http://www.visitportugal.com/Cultures/en-US/default.html

Glad you're not coming now, airports are closing because the volcano ash cloud is spreading and hitting us... Thousands of tourists are stuck in the Algarve since yesterday... It's chaos again!

Gerry Boyd said...

Yummy!

Cynthia said...

Breath-taking, Catherine. The
last verse in particular is
haunting.