A Woman Of Letters (Poetry)

I took seven letters you sent me
and I crumpled them into a dish
I lit a green tapering candle
while I conjured an unlikely wish
then I saw in the flame
how you’d sullied my name
and my passion expired in one breath
I was cold, I was numb
all my faith was undone
and love knew a quick bitter death

I searched for a reason for living
and picked at my wounds ever-raw
I never considered forgiving
the proof of betrayal I saw
I never once dreamed
it was not how it seemed
I was deaf to the voice in my head
that whispered away
like a soundtrack each day
all those long-buried questions unsaid

I went to a famous physician
I believed he could cure all the stress
but he diagnosed my condition
was no more than a stain on my dress
so I tore off my frock
and he reeled from the shock
then he fainted away on the floor
I once tried to go back
but his tarnished brass plaque
disappeared — just a patch on the door

I drifted along by the harbour
I thought I might swim out to sea
and perhaps make a home with the fishes
try a life far more simple and free
there proved nowhere to hide
for the saltwater tide
was polluted from shoreline to sky
plastic bobbed up and down
from the throw-away town
grown deaf to the gull’s lonesome cry

I wrote you an agonised letter
and I blamed you for everything wrong
I expected to feel somewhat better
as the words tumbled blue as a song
but they hung their sad shroud
like a thin cloying cloud
so I ripped up the paper in haste
the harsh lesson since learned
boats are fatally burned
and there’s nothing can counter such waste

*

I once was a woman of letters
but of late feed wild words to the flame
leave the tame ones for use by my betters
no surprise life goes on much the same
all those oceans of ink
slowly darken and shrink
I’ve abandoned the pad and the pen
though I might rant and rave
I have no thoughts to save
and no reason to write you again