A stone thuds to the ground
It doesn’t crack.
Stuck solid. Unmoving.
Unsure of itself,
No sound.
No feeling, no movement
Just a weight.
Heavy
Impenetrable.
Fate.
Slowly the speed of the fall catches up.
It starts with a shudder,
Loses its grip
Sharply slices in two.
One watches the other.
A stranger, once friend.
Two pieces, now seven
They shudder again
Tension released.
A breaking,
The only way to bring peace
For they are one
Seven parts of a whole
Connected by threads
Of a love, once known
———-
The whisps of silk tremble
As the stone shatters.
Turned to dust
Irrelevant matter.
The wind picks up
Swirls, lifts, dumps, shifts
Whistling whispers shower ashes and grit
Upon a face meniscus catches
Quick
Thick damp
Races down
Soot hungers
Lingers,
On a frown. Curls round
and over
Skin once caressed
So tender,
Streaked with mud
Now there is
nothing left
but
Surrender
Sarah Davenport is a new writer, from Bangor, Country Down. This is her first published poem. Sarah writes about politics, grief and nature, sometimes but not always intertwined. She blogs at environmentalchemy.com and spends her working life improving social and environmental systems through food.
Image Credit: cottonbro
