she could see
the curl of smile
on his lips
as he took her breath
Savannah trees looked on
frowning their branches
moss like tears hanging
the last thing she saw
his tear drop to her nose
and her ghost followed
as he laid her down
in that Georgia swamp
an improper burial
for an improper southern belle
but her hair spread out
and her eyes stayed open
as she sank

where is her ghost now?
playing dominoes with strange fruit
even in death
and he couldn't stop her there

07/11/2003

Author's Note: Inspiration for this was via "Strange Fruit" by Billie Holiday, "Little Amsterdam" by Tori Amos and William Shakespeare's Othello. I'm not sure why it's taken me so long to work out this feeling, or why it manifested itself so violently... Angel definitely came and had a part in this one. It's the first I've seen her in a while and she really wanted to take this one over. That's not generally a bad thing, so I let her.

The thing that struck me after I wrote this is that this girl was seeing more than one face as she died. Her killer wasn't just one man to her. The different killers were killing for different reasons. I've gone off on a tangent no one will be able to understand now, so I'll leave it there.

I think Death is a sweet old southern lady drinking tea on her front porch. This is from her perspective.

Posted on 07/11/2003
Copyright © 2024 Emily G Myers