24.12.11

The middle-aged woman

During the day
more and more
a certain thought
occurs to her:

men, loved and unloved,
even the married, usually die first.

She thinks "this is a
weird honour, but for whom?"

Instinctively she wonders
"Where's Paul?"

Then she imagines his funeral
and post mortem emotions
run through her heart

like wild horses galloping
through virgin land.

3 comments:

Anne Higgins said...

Nicoletta - Wow -- your poem really struck me. Very powerful and beautiful.

I am enjoying following your blog.

Best wishes from Anne

Nicoletta Poulakida said...

Thanks Anne
All the very best
N.

Robert's Blog Page said...

Quite a powerful and emotive write.

Post a Comment