Retracing Time
Reading Time: 2 minutes
"This was a poem that came to me as if a movie scene, and it was so detailed it preempted me to write the story in prose. The prose is entitled Revenir in Fiction - but the bird and the Grenadian beach is true life." - Allen Ansell The light falls. A red ball into a blue sea. It sizzles to the gravel beach, and its breath rattles. The water falls on pink cheeks reddened in the eve. Wetting dried-up lines: riverbeds pain has carved through time. Cane brandy flows between trembling and aged lips, waking shades of what once has been - and will not return. Bare feet slap on sun bleached wooden planks of grey, on his lone journey down the hall silent of her voice. The lamp swings and casts eerie kitchen shadows, flitting between memories that fail to be real. The door squeaks and groans to be opened again. Pots and pans, cups and saucers, mate lip to rigid lip. Dust motes fly as his wrinkly hand seeks it out. But it hides in a corner, and is safe, out of reach. The chair scrapes drag marks through the pale threadbare rug. Breath catches and blood pumps it up and he arises too. He climbs it, a tall step for his aged bones, and then it is within his grasp and he is connected. No bird flies that's made of woven palm leaf - crafted on a Grenadian beach when paradise was his... She walks in and his dreams are granted life... but there is, as always, a price to gain paradise: Breath is stilled, a body flies home to the earth and finding it, does not feel pain... it is in her arms. © Allen Ansell 2023
Thoughtful and wonderful poem.
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