Fantastically shaped, beautifully hued
Hi there, my name is Sally; I am drawn to things left unsaid, to snapshot moments in time and to emotions and events which leave a mark.
The purple extends outwards from my eye, dark and lurid,
yellowing extensions of a sulphurous lake.
It’s a perfect egg. A perfect ex-ample.
Fantastically shaped, beautifully hued;
if it weren’t right there for all to see
(and turn away from)
and coming from nowhere.
No-one saw it,
there is no story to tell,
no tall-tale of heroism or a drunken fall.
Just another prosaic ending to the blackness which came before
and which no-one was there to witness
(except maybe the cat).
I look him deep in his emerald eyes and he stares back at mine, as it turns from pewter to maroon, from ochre to ash.
He’s not telling what he saw, or heard.
I run my finger along it, I feel ashamed, though of what I am not sure;
the universal embarrassment of such an outward display of drama, maybe.
At the unsaid untruths which accompany such a mutli-coloured lie.
And that’s the thing – as I look at you, eye to eye after so long,
I will never know
and you will never comprehend what it feels like:
Not to know.
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