Entranced

Perched upon my arm, as a falcon clasping its’ owner, she hung on my every word as though the wind that sent meaningless efforts in her direction, by mere nervous suggestion, contained something more than the death of my spine.

As I stumbled across the floor she glided with the grace of a thousand ballet silhouettes and managed to turn my awkward gait into an extravagant affair of follies by limbs; perhaps my feet may have proved to do more than maintain my shoes upon my feet.

I dared glance into the endless pools of tearless hope that gravitated me towards her magnificent soul, steadfast as a deer’s gaze into oncoming traffic.

Again I lay awake.

If I close my eyes I dream of her. If I keep them open I am haunted.

I stare at the chair within itself, not for what it is now, yet for what is once was…what it held…such a gentle frame. It once held such beauty, class, and elegance.

She sits there no more. And I, as the chair, hold her no more.

Not physically anyway.

I rest my head upon the pane and allow the gentle rain that runs down to provide my tears. I no longer have the means to cry. My illusion reflects in the glass.

Draped upon the chair the deep red dress hangs my heart blue.

People once were green, now just pale upon the shadows I hold. Envy my emptiness. Envy my despair.

No one ever wants to take your worst from you, apparently you disserve that; yet when you have something worthwhile…fingers point, hands grasp, and your worthiness is called into question.

I listen to her heartbeat every night. I smell her perfume in the morning. I feel her upon my arm whenever I leave this once home, now house.

Never did I own the falcon. Nor did the ballet dance just for me.

My life ended as many a deer.

Entranced.






- J.G. Smith (10/13/06)