Interiors
A lifetime is barely enough to notice
colour veining stone; striated years leech
into vision, pocking in highlights
that punctuate an unrevealed epic.
Darks and greys line, bowed. Arrested
by a sermon on the sea, imagination
winds round the thread of their minimal
movements; odd heads bow like black buoys.
And that girl who is leaving the funeral early
has nowhere to go but into her life.
Unexpected porch-light widens her dry eyes.
She has prayed her life into her reddened cheeks.
Links:
[1] https://www.ablemuse.com/v6/poetry/ted-mccarthy/painting-saint-agnes?s=ff077e973199aebf01e023811a333cb1
[2] https://www.ablemuse.com/v6/fiction/thaisa-frank/henna?s=ff077e973199aebf01e023811a333cb1