Thursday, 14 November 2013

Things not meant to be

The saddest sound
is made
when wooden lips collide
across the string divide.
Stomboli laughed
at foolish puppets
mimicking the grandest acts
of life.
Mangiafuoco was more kind;
set me free
with coins and a sad shake of his head
when he heard the tale
of two puppets kissing -
wooden lips bump
to the sound
of earth hitting a coffin lid.
When my wood turned to skin
I sought her out.
She had been devoured by the fire;
there was nothing left
but memory: the texture
of wood on my lips –
the sound of a wooden club
as it connects to the small head
of a fur seal pup.

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