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The sorrows of Jerusalem The sorrows of Jerusalem
by Abigail George
2018-10-07 07:52:04
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The sorrows of Jerusalem
(for May, Jennifer, Charles and Danfred)

    We’ve found each other again on
    this island. Call it a kingdom or
    perhaps this is an empire. See the
sa001_400    romantic light of the day as it falls
    blue (like music) and electric (like
    sea). See the nylon smile of day’s
    light. The curse of the seamstress
    tying together loose threads and I
remember
my love for her. My hand in her hand.
    The purple current and brave tide. See
    the mournful language of combustion.
    The history of moonlight climbing
    into night as night falls with its
    manifesto. Praise the fire of sanctuary.
    It keeps the dead family members out.
    This flood of anxiety. Renaissance.
    Mist. Fog. Fog. Mist. We will find
    safety in heaven. That paradise and
    if we are wounded we will still
    find reason to rejoice. Shout in
    triumph. We won’t find refugees
here on our island only in far-off memory.
    In the talent of digital media. The
    butterflies here are too-charming.
    Scorching. I swim as if I’m chained to
you.

We’re chained to each other. No
one can speak of our love. Spring
is lonely. Swept away by tourists. Young

children. The ghost of a bird. Wings
translated into studies of cloud. Stressed
observations of dusk finishing off

the day. Our love was born under
the sun. Your hands cold milk. Death of hand.
Your wedding-body. Desperate flesh.

Dark unpinned hair enters me. Enters
my life and I realised it didn’t, could never really
belong to me. I want to do more than

sleep in this bed. I want to do more
than swim in this ocean-sea or walk on
this beach. And then, I remember my love

for you. Your silence a primitive-something.
Sadness melting away. A shelter filled
with goals. No man who is master-

of-booze here. Just a sleeping river where
we’ve found the sorrows of Jerusalem. A
river with a heart of blackness. Silence is

like a razor. She’s an ocean’s patience away.
A blackness. Answers found in the burnt dark.
And so, triumphant night falls and summer.

***********************************************************************
Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren"
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!

 life_06_400


   
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