Don’t think I’m dead.
[Checks self for signs of entry or exit wounds]
Too soon, I guess.
[Blood takes a long time to well up from the soul]
Something living lopped off the family tree.
Felt it crack the length of my faultline –
Spirit torn from flesh before its time.
[Eyes too hot, too raw, too dry for tears]
Felt it fall,
Fall free of me,
Fall headlong, slow and silently screaming
Into the black beyond redemption’s reach.
No echoes, reflections, reminders, recollections.
[Not missing a bit of me at all, but a bit of all of me, that’s all.]
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Comments about this poem (Faultline by Tony Jolley )
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