Stained

A poem and original photography

Image by the author, from April 2023.

I followed the stain home.

Brain leaking, came home
in the heat and heard the dial
tone — an image of a faceless body

swimming in the sea — so much is still
left to be atoned. There was nothing
much to see,
an incomplete me, a shadow, lurking
in your nothing, discussing nothing in particular,
a white noise murmur.

Insects scuttle by, searching for places to hide.

A house nearby is on fire. I still
remember the funeral, the dreadful feeling, the church
spire. Defeated, uninspired. Stuff my
limbs into a black suit, and
drag my body along.

Cattle prodded lethargy, sleepy
sounds outside, we stayed awake and
let the crickets hide. I followed
myself home
and found I had no home left.

Hot rubble, the pot
bubbled
and told a half a hundred lies.