In the low hum of night
silences overlapping
I listen carefully for husks of memory
see if I can fit them together
like a puzzle
Autumn is here and
I am as a hollowed, marionette
I spin myself a fat cocoon
from the photographs
on my table
Fashion a home for me to live another night
(Perhaps all we truly have is silence,
and the small things that light
our attention
like fireflies)
Autumn is here and
I wish I could say to you that it’s all OK
but the truth is everything fades, becomes sepia
Oh, this old woman sitting here isn’t me
she’s not the girl who went travelling on her own
–long before it was fashionable!–
spoke six languages, fell in love.
I place the photograph back on the table
I’ve sewn you into my mind for another night
Tonight, I can still utter your name.
And I say it over and over again.
Over, and over.
© 2011. Sarah Horne. All Rights Reserved.
Spiral Paper Moon 