Let’s go live a little. The body of grief lies still as death
itself. Empty hangers rock uselessly. A grainy, grey
photograph taken an eternity ago is all that remains. The
beat goes on. I loosen the ribbon to undo what separates me
from you. And the morning moon fades so fast, that blank
baby look, year after year, gathering ghosts. The earth has
wounds to heal beneath an undecided sky. I can see the
limits of vision from the inside. Light of brown October!
White wax drips from the ritual candle. The empty radiator
clanking reminds me of something broken; spray-painted.
Take me away somewhere. Scotland. Oh. We walk toward
the river’s edge. It’s hard. It is the season when rain falls
sideways.

Jenene Ravesloot

A cento derived from the words of Mary Blinn found in
when word and image run away
First published in After Hours in 2019