Palimpsest

This is the wall of his memory
A photo to his disappearance
Pale, washed out with years
Yet, still, there he must be found.

His laughter haunts the echoes;
Not too far, she too remains;
A moment so long ago, outside
Of the time they both knew.

There, I will stay, searching
The nooks, the crannies, the seams,
For a signature has been apposed
Perhaps only a sketch of a life.

Palimpsest, the scientist
Will uncover every layer
Of the story finished too soon;
Unshroud a death only in rumors.
His skin reddened by the attacker
Weather of all seasons,
A shirt wearing spots of inks
And many chapters untold.

He laughs into the thickness
Of an unfathomable fortress,
Only from time to time, to
Emerge and wink at finitude.

It is his wall, the cover he built
Upon which his portrait lasts
Author of his biography.

Shell

She has been sitting in the corner
For some time now, under a
Graying head.

Never a gaze at the outside,
Face down, she stirs
The aroma of a cup.

Never a word, nor a motion,
She sits surrounded by
A protecting sphere,
Invisible.

Once a folio, once the news,
Others stare upon the
Silhouette, they
Give her the
Life they want.

Lights dim, sounds shutter,
It all comes to a stop;
Statue, for her,
Not a change,
Not a simmer,
She is.

Questions have arisen,
Left unanswered,
Sipping she
Sits;
Still,
In that corner,
Somber, damp,
In an exile she made,
Surrounded by crowds.

Her name she wrote,
Once ephemeral,
On the waves,
Stirring below.

Again, perhaps inhaling
The savors of ages,
The sign of life,
She drinks yet
Another sip,
Alone
At last.

 

Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University, Rome, Georgia. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and more than a dozen other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River magazine and more than fifty of other publications.