A Sudden Absence

Vilhelm Hammershoi, femme dans un interieur, 1905

I have had a new poem, 
A Sudden Absence, published 
in Bluepepper. Read it below, 
or better still, read it online 
at Bluepepper, where you will find 
an array of fine poetry on offer.
This wonderful site, edited by 
Australian poet Justin Lowe, 
has recently been included in 
Pandora,the National Library of 
Australia's Web Archive — which is  
a testament to the high standard 
of poetry it publishes. Just sign 
up via email to receive a regular 
dose of good quality poems into 
your inbox. Enjoy!

A Sudden Absence

When a sudden absence opens
where before there was a lover, or a child,
(a child’s worse, we must all agree
a child’s loss is worst), the everyday
grows almost perverse.

Routine grinds around and round the lack
and identity, devoid of vital purpose
withers back…

Autumn’s raw draft rankles from her room —
but I don’t look; instead I close the door,
and try to cover up by loving
the others a little more.

 

 

 

 

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20 thoughts on “A Sudden Absence

  1. Hi Michele,

    A powerful verse, specially the closing lines, and I quote:

    “…but I don’t look; instead I close the door,
    and try to cover up by loving
    the others a little more.”

    Does such behaviour arise from a need to avoid facing reality or the need to ‘cover up’ and feign all is normal. This again arising from a need to avoid a lack of orderliness in one’s life.

    What would you say is in the background of such needs?

    Shakti

    • Hi Michael. Thanks so much for this comment. I’m glad you found the poem both eerie and hopeful. And Emily Dickinson – wow! How amazing is her poetry. So gentle and strong simultaneously. I love her, so probably no coincidence my poetry is influenced by hers! Thank you, as always, for reading. I really appreciate your support.

  2. Our haunted minds, houses with rooms, doors, and windows to peer through as we walk on creaking floors to the stories of the people we know and love. Every now and then time relents and we visit a room we closed the door on lost to the past, just to remember and honour once wounds have healed and no longer fresh with pain.

    Pondering how we live and the mind works, well explored, Michele.

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