Alabaster Skin

She wore her alabaster skin;

and hair

black like a raven’s feathers.

Never spoke a word,

but left no question.

Lingered on the eyes,

the mind,

the lips,

the tongue;

one every generation.

 

She would walk

each day

down the stairway

to the sea

and take in

the vast horizon.

Never spoke a word,

but nobody ever asked

what she was waiting for.

 

Memories never quite fade

fast enough,

unless they’re of a lover.

Amnesiac,

the sensory organs

fail to bring back

any wanted presence.

Better that

than to remember pain;

exquisite,

like a new scar.

Dark eyes

daily beholding

the immutable, grey coastline.

Imploring it to purge

its secrets.

 

Nothing doing

and no one cares.

She walks back home in silence.

To break with faith

might serve to ally

every superstition

and then the mind

might pierce that

slate-grey veil

and out tumble memories.

 

Then she might remember

what it was to be touched,

and with it

every cut

and bruise

and stone.

Crack the firmament

and all comes spilling out,

no way to close,

no suture holds.

She stays inside,

her alabaster skin

no longer sees the sun.

After all,

the ocean’s clear as day,

now the pain has just begun.

 

HG – 2018

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