Back of the hunched black house,
a garden’s white water
in a slow fountain, a sugar bowl.
A light goes lazy up the stairs.
Stairs ascend, descend,
ascend, descend –
a fluid in a hospital drip.
Two dogs sleeping ear to ear
smother the hearth’s vacant font
and the man breaths at the altar.
The clock has stopped,
a holding of breath between the thoughts
of perhaps ending it all.
‘Is there a back way into heaven? ’
the man wonders, planning
his escape from the hunched black
house in the night
as it slowly entombs him, and
the night entombs the house, and
loneliness buries everything.
Haunting and surreal to me. It's one of those you read over and over again to realize every part of it. Great write.
God this is good, can just picture it... love those dogs sleeping ear to ear, kind of brought a sense of life to an otherwise dark piece of poetry. HG: -) xx
There's something very Alfred Hitchcock-ish about this one! Nicely done! Hugs, dee
This one hit me between the eyes! Took me back to the Australia cinema of the 60s and Bergman's surealistic black and white images. A masterful piece about darkness and fear (depression?) Love the word 'hunched' in the title, and the 'back way into heaven.' Stunning poem. love, Allie xxxx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This life is so often an experience of being entombed; if I did not cherish the hope of a way back to heaven it would not have been bearable; atmosphere is palpable. Kind regards, Margaret.