His Portrait

by Xanthe   Aug 14, 2012


It was over a decade ago when I left my childhood
beneath quilts devoid of your once familiar warmth.
I still remember how I watched Mother; eyes
brimming with confusion as words fluttered from my mouth
only to echo upon bare walls, their wings - singed.

That which I artlessly called my home, time gradually
shaped into nothingness within her cold hands.
And I watched - continued to watch Mother timelessly obey her.

When I rediscovered my beliefs, I decisively looked back,
and found I could no longer see her.
I even heard Mother whisper freedom in her sleep.
Perhaps it was the perfume of coffee or the warm
arrival of Winter that beckoned my senses and reason to return.

Soon thereafter, all I can hear is rain tapping in my head
and footsteps as I re-ascended the attic stairs for the first time
since a thousand poems ago.

Your portrait hangs there still, where I left it.

And I begin to wonder, about the time this memory,
this frozen, faraway look in your eyes -
was not just a memory. When it was not
just merely a part of my past.

I then find myself beginning to question the reason behind
the existence of bare walls, the white sheet covering your piano,
and the filled boxes on that day in our 'home'...

And the long drive afterwards to someplace "better".

I remember how she gave me everything,
apart from the reason why.

08/14/12
*To the past.
Not poetic, though; more of a vent.

    report violation
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Latest Comments

  • 11 years ago

    by LittleMermaid

    Excellent Xanthe!!
    its so beautifully written ,as always you do..
    Congratulation on winning friend!
    *_*

  • 11 years ago

    by Nema

    Sometimes things don't really have to be THAT poetic to be admired. Although I really think this IS as poetic as needed :)
    For a starter, I love your title, poetry alone is a portrait, a portrait IN a portrait is surely a poem of a kind.

    "That which I artlessly called my home, time gradually
    shaped into nothingness within her cold hands.
    And I watched - continued to watch Mother timelessly obey her."
    ^
    Can you explain the "her" here? I'm quite confused which her did you mean, are there two females in the poem?

    "Perhaps it was the perfume of coffee or the warm
    arrival of Winter that beckoned my senses and reason to return."
    ^
    A bleak winter I guess? I love these two lines, I love the smell of coffee in poems. They often smell of sleeplessnes and the desire to just...forget.

    "since a thousand poems ago."
    ^
    My ultimate favorite line!!! =) I'm not sure whose poems do you mean though, yours or famous poets'. All I know is that I adore this comparison.

    I love your enjambment here, it sounded so poetic to my ears, and yet too perplexing, like no ordinary poem. Hence, an extraordinary poem is yours :)

    Great write!
    Shine on~

  • 11 years ago

    by Maple Tree

    Congratulations on a well deserved win :-)

  • 11 years ago

    by Max

    WOOOOOOOOOW
    Congratulates on the win
    well deserved =))

  • 11 years ago

    by Wild flower

    CONGRAAAAAAAAAAATS ^_^

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