Clair Meyrick: Catherine

Catherine

it’s time to dance her essence of presence is disturbed footsteps keep no secrets whispers on the concourse she lets open pores absorb the light dispels myths that surround her ribs like ivy

vision clears with the first rays of the rising sun its resonance echoes down the years what’s written is a reflection not someone else’s fiction

Clair Meyrick

she feels his fingers along her backbone it should bend, not stack up against her will he soothe the cotton wool throat that traps the words that make her breathing shallow will he release the concrete feet that pull her down to drown her sorrows will he hold her fists of rage and rock her from side to sigh?

she wouldn’t want to miss a beat of him

the map of effort distorts faces worn torn stories rise to the surface words escape as steam flavoured with anticipation punctuated with heart stopping notes

she had forgotten to remember

something lost in a heartbeat found its way into her hand mystery and honesty filter through the spaces in between thoughts search for a patch of ground where he’d walked, where her tears now fall

soon she will find her body in a different place her absence of presence noted in a subtle shift

perhaps she sighs perhaps she doesn’t have to dream his memory

perhaps I sigh perhaps I’m not ready to let memory that dances with dust settle

it’s in the song of her laughter it’s in the story woven in the coat that keeps us warm it’s in the whisper of inquisitiveness leaving its mark on those who pass our shadow ghosts