Monday, November 1, 2010

Dark Water and White Stone

Dark Water and White Stone

The perfume in this bottle has turned.
Bitter.
And stale as the air.
It settles on my skin
like lead.
I smell dead.
Smash the urn.
And grind it in my fist
till it’s ash.
But I am not its genie
or its master.
The pieces will not complete my wish.
They cling to me like sin.
Absorbing my resolve.
I dare not wear this shadow too long.
Mine is fickle.
Jealous.
And spends its nights
in solid despair.
Listen.
You can hear it
crying in the hall.
Open the door and it is gone.
Clinging to the feet of a nightmare.
Buried
in the breath of a rose.






--A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  She has previously published her work in literary journals, in the U.K. as well as America, such as Avon Literary Intelligencer, Eastern Rainbow, Medicinal Purposes Literary Review, The Intercultural Writer's Review, Icon, Writer's Gazette, and The Penwood Review.

No comments: