Not you two…
The wedding goers run to spread,
Middle-grooved, life-burnt, ambitions pinched.
They remember you reed-like, proud.
The tallest, the thinnest, the broadest of smiles.
Twin souls, all that gaff which you too
You two
Believed.
No one knew how compromise was already sewn tight
In hems, cross-stitch of last chances,
Loosely looped into seconds
Then thirds.
Your glamorous wasp waist
So thin
The twigs snapped soon and dropped
In dismayed defeat, booted into the mud.
What do Facebook pictures of gappy, goofy children show
Other than absence of parents.
Friends sigh and shuffle
Take sides
Blame quivering dull like blancmange
To be appointed, swallowed whole,
Perhaps even digested.
wow, this is very, very powerful. thank you for sharing.
Blame quivering full like blancmange – wondrous image!
Powerful!
Evocative to say the least…
This really is powerful, Marina Sofia. It really captures it all so effectively. The ‘photo, too…
Oh, that’s excellent Marina – captures absolutely the collapse of things…
Please keep up the poetry, love this.
I love the line “Blame quivering dull like blancmange” and love the whole poem in fact! The only word I don’t “get” is “appointed” after the blancmange. It breaks the food metaphore.
Just fantastic.
Although my marriage has lasted near ly four decades, would it be wrong of me to say I hate the “twin souls” stuff. I suppose it heaps occasionally but mesons it could set you up to fail. Excellent poem Marina, evocative but clear. I too like the blancmange image.