Re-shuffling Loss

shadows loom

over another loop

a balance between womb or doom

across woven, complex, delicate lines

within the infinite tapestry of time

as mannequins shadow candlelight

stumbling over scattered bones

ghosted on the river of wrong

& wasted last chances gone.


So too, was the  last book collected

 chess pieces sorted

divided items selected

boxing airless dream bubbles

with no more mind games to play.

For every part of this precious tragedy

they played their parts with tortured hearts

beginning the end of their pawn shop shuffle of separation

… all while the scratched record played the permanence of all the things

their love never got to say.




A Tradition Is A Tradition

He gulped, licking the salt from his lips. ‘Again, tell me why I’m doing this?’

‘You have to, it’s the rules of engagement,’ she said.

‘Isn’t there another way?’ The breeze tousled his hair as he winced at the odour of the others damaging his sense of smell.

‘It’s a tradition. We can’t change tradition. If we changed tradition, then it’s no longer a tradition. When my family’s all about tradition,’ she said as the others surrounding her nodded. ‘You want me to say yes, don’t you?’

Wiping sweaty palms, he frowned at the depths of darkness. ‘Yeah. But, I don’t want to do this.’

‘If I was in your position, I’d be the same. Tell you what, I’ll help you. It’ll be all over soon.’ She gave him a quick shove in the back and he teetered over the edge with a cry, as the crew craned their necks to follow his fall.

And they waited. Silently.

Until his head arose from the briny drink.

‘Should’ve listened to your mother when she said never play with pirates. Pick me up for dinner at seven,’ she shouted topside.

And he waved and swam back to shore, smiling.

(200 words)


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