LAST RITES by Susan P. Blevins
Image | MART PRODUCTIONS
LAST RITES
Night is the hunter of lonely souls
no place lonelier than shuttered city
in the small hours
Melancholy strains of Eric Satie seep out of
ill-fitting windows onto cold wet
city street
A sleepless soul sinking deeper
into hopelessness with each
despairing note
Homeless woman pauses to listen
shuffling feet interrupt their journey to
final destination
Jealously she drags her piece of hard-won
cardboard behind her, peering
over her shoulder
The soft sad music reminds her of days long gone
when she had roof and food and
warm clothes
Even a piano
All gone now, victim of a heartless political
system which beggared her with medical costs
when mortal illness struck
She lost it all to pay her bills
and now the cancer holds her in its
final death grip
She has a place she has come to like
and carefully lays out her cardboard bed
the last rites
She places her weary body on cold
wet city street and surrenders
her final possession
Last Rites was published in 2018 in Beakful.
© Susan P. Blevins
 |
| Susan P. Blevins |
Susan P. Blevins was born in England and subsequently spent all but the first twenty years of her life in Italy and the USA. She had a weekly column in an international newspaper while living in Rome, and now publishes her writing in various literary publications worldwide.
Susan,
ReplyDeleteSo powerful and sad, and of course ultimately tragic. Who knows how many of these small, private rituals transpire all around us in cities? The tiny line, "Even a piano," struck an emotional chord with me. But I must say, your opening line is incredibly powerful, and of course true. Congratulations on this important publication. Press on!
What a sad and impactful poem!
ReplyDelete