it's not going to happen all at once--
in fact, this moment of suffering will turn
into several eternities: it's just how these things
the time will creep by and you'll do nothing
but hate god and yourself for not having saved
her: all these things are normal, even your pain,
especially your pain...
but they won't tell you about reliving
that moment in your heart till
time "runneth out" and they won't tell you
you'll wish you too were dead even though
as your beard greys and the eyes dim,
you won't be able to tell much difference
between life and death,
so that your misery will
come to feel normal, like something
that is good and wholesome because it reminds
you of her...
until you remember what she was
really like and you'll despise yourself for
replacing her with this disgusting substitute
that could never be her, that she never would have
approved of you curling up with, for
where is your life now?
you can point to this image and say there,
right there! but that was then, and you are more
than her loss, aren't you?
they'll want something transcendent here,
something lifting them up to where their
own wisdom could never take them,
and so you point to her death, to your lamenting,
and say forever that this is who you are,
even as you know she is shaking her head at you
where is the part that says you will do the same,
that you will leave her as she left you?
if she hated dying, you can hate to continue
living, but still, you must go…
yet in spite of knowing this, you
This poem was written in response to the sex and art ekphrastic challenge.
Garth Ferrante is a complete unknown who teaches, writes, and makes games out of challenging his own creativity. He writes because he loves to, because he finds meaning and purpose in it, because if he didn’t, life would be lifeless.
The Ekphrastic Review
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