A word whispered by winter’s ghost
in last night’s dream of loss.
So foreign to this man,
it held a portent.
as he sweeps winter’s leavings from his tilted deck,
Gehenna echos back to him in a latent sigh.
He and his Margie. Gone these two years.
The deep ravine behind their home.
Its choked and bubbling stream.
The shopping carts, beer bottles, stinking refuse, dirty mattresses.
Once, there were many cherries there.
Flashing, one night.
Part of a person had been found.
He and Margie had stayed in their own yard.
On a night in the spring of ’17, Margie didn’t come home from work.
Margie didn’t call.
Margie was never found.
Margie wasn’t heard from again.
The ghost of winter had a voice of chill.
Tonight, as it sighed the same syllables,
a thrill of knowing made him drop to his knees in the twilight.
Art work by Theophile Steinlen – Chat au Claire de Lune (from Pinterest)
Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.