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preservation in ash
by Marina DawnIn Pompeii, among the ruins of the city
are placed the glass tombs of the dead,
disintegrated by ash. The
faces encased tarry, as perfect as stones,
eyes furrowed and mouths
agape, hollowed as though in calling a name
the last thrum of their dead hearts
still lingering there.
Outside, now, in the small, New Mexican dust
storm the black, low birds
careening amongst the winds, turning their slick
feathers and swaying in the updraft.
Only a few things in my life have been carried
through to time, new and existing, like the white
presence of memory.
A broken pulse stored in glass. Aspens, possessed
by loose wind. That you loved me.
That I loved you.
09/12/2005 Posted on 09/12/2005
Copyright © 2025 Marina Dawn
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Lacy D Phillips on 09/12/05 at 11:16 PM I like the contemplative mood of this. |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 12/17/15 at 01:52 PM congratulations, Marina. this ode is quite beautiful. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/17/15 at 05:47 PM Lovely POTD. Some fascinating comparisons here. |
| Posted by Richard Vince on 08/28/25 at 11:50 PM How did this pass me by for nearly twenty years? Maybe so it could be the poem I needed to read after some things I thought about today (technically yesterday, as is my way). It captures that feeling, the satisfaction that comes from knowing that it wasn't my imagination, perfectly and beautifully. A most deserving POTD almost ten years ago. |
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