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by Tony Whitaker

It was cold
A cutting cold
As the sun set low
I waded through the
Throng of dark denuded trees
Backlit branches casting shadows
Like children with twisted arms
Flung out wide as if nailed to a cross
Tossed by the wind their blackened branches
Seem to be to fall upon me

I quicken along the now well-worn way
As I spy the light from the cabin
Its fire and ample, quilted padded covers
Hide a mounting rage and outraged amazement
A well-built hope now ruins

I see her face as grave and tranquil
As a portrait in a frame,
Stony, still and brooding
She talks in that dead cold tone
Imparting the finish to my
Bound bliss in a final kiss

As she has slipped my gravity
To orbit another lover
Within her celestial covers


Posted on 11/13/2010
Copyright © 2021 Tony Whitaker

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Alison McKenzie on 11/13/10 at 11:54 PM

If it just wouldn't take that turn. I feel the shivers from this, Tony.

Posted by Laura Doom on 11/16/10 at 11:21 AM

A shadow to which you've given poignant substance and definition by contrast. Effective use of 'gravity' in that final stanza -- strong stuff Tony.

Posted by Kristine Briese on 11/18/10 at 08:08 PM

Stunning! The imagery here is incredible.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 11/19/10 at 05:32 PM

The cold permeates this - "the quilted padded covers" cannot seem to provide comfort here. Well done, Tony.

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 04/12/11 at 11:59 PM

The estrangemnet of a relationship symbolized in a most dramatic way.

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