The Ghost of Me

Sevilla en fiestas Gustavo Bacarisas

they pass and repass through the air
–Margaret Atwood

I saw the painting mounted on the wall
of the Museo de Bellas Artes
in dusty Sevilla. I could not miss
three female figures, conspiring in shawl.
Dusk settling, crowd gathered for the ball,
a spotlight illuminates the dresses.
Faces held close. What neck tingling is this?
Strong kholled eyes smile, tugging loose the caul
that had enveloped me. A protective
layer of my own making. A strong wish
to hide, face pressed against the windowpane.
Shaking bones need hope, even tentative.
Creeping illness makes paint and thoughts bluish,
that I would like to begin again.

[NaPoWriMo 2019 – day 4]

5 thoughts on “The Ghost of Me”

  1. Beautiful. I like the way you shifted the meter. And this: “Shaking bones need hope”.
    I truly enjoy your work and will come back to read more as I have the time. On Instagram you know me as a.r.ashworth.author.

    Liked by 1 person

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