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ELIZABETH WRIGHT
BRITTLE EMBERS
Grief ripped and tortured me,
as I surveyed the remains
of your life
like it was
a brittle Edwardian album leaf,
like I could look,
but no longer touch.
You are a far-off figure,
a brief ember
that fell
glowing auburn-red
to the floor
and flickered out
into a grey memoria.
And it really hurt,
to see the effervescent colours
of your life
descend
from Autumn into ashes
through the dark days of December.
© 2004 Elizabeth Wright
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