By Fabrice Poussin
A Little Piece of Heaven
Late by the dimming spark of an abandoned candle she stumbled upon pieces of other people’s memories buried deep at the foot of her forgotten attic celebrated by shrouds of ancestral dust. Soon she found herself outside of time sitting in her little girl’s summer dress as she might in a formal gown to an ancient ball entering a palace made for glorious damsels. Before her, old postcards bearing secret codes encyclopedias to the dearly departed her soul begins to smile as she understands connections to those who made her world. A postmark from another continent ominous years when humanity collapsed wounds transported across oceans to the quiet hearth of her young refuge. Letters preciously preserved within beds of pastel sheets dormant for decades speak to her in the tongue of dreams warm with the sounds of a long dynasty. Pioneers, warriors, lost migrants on a terrifying island she hears the pitches of their words, laughter and tears alive in the little paradise she made the voice of Heaven surrounds her.
As if a hurricane has struck in the midst of the excited crowd a turbulent wave came like a tsunami to leave no trace behind. They arrived as a wholesome herd summer transients in their uniforms of southern hues upon the peaceful hill busy with every moment to make a change. Stars shone upon these parade reflecting bright sparks upon the rainy paths until days of dense hours overtook the somber shadows watchful over those fragile little lives. Clamors still resonate all around yet they were gone in an instant sleepy hearts during the heights of June they ride to other climes full of memories. The vacant lot stretches for miles close to infinity in its loneliness where naught remains of the noisy carnival no candy paper nor forgotten half-emptied soda cans. Ruler over the realm his private home he still recalls the coming of the crowds eager to laugh, gleeful to play, joyful to be and for that a warm year comforts his life.
Her Image in the Mist
Images of what she may be float before his soul slender as she ventures into the wild of darkened avenues at midday. The lips always bear what appears a gentle joy she turns back for a last glimpse of a moment just forgotten. An icy breeze fills the void of her absence air twirls with the power of a sculptor and a humanoid mold appears. Alone in the multitude of this universe he stands desperate for another sight perhaps the aroma of her essence. A fantasy etched within the walls of his fancies she haunts his thoughts as she does his fibers ever present to comfort eternal fears. Her soul pierces to the depth of his being with every glance through the night and the last breaths of his days.
House of Decay
It is another strange morning for the lady in the uniform of the universal servant. Oblivious to the stage set she knows all she must do is erase a late night’s memories High above the realm her abode in the luxury of so much wasted space she has journeyed as a stranger and cleansed all signs of debauchery left on a floor littered with white sprinkles reeking of nauseating moments. She witnessed none of the glee yet the walls still resonate with the excitement of a mob abandoned to its meek senses. Her only thoughts gravitate to her true home somewhere in forgotten suburbs so close to the street she may feel safe. She will never eradicate those tenacious spots on a quilt bequeathed by an ancestor stained by her first or was it third child. But she feels warmth inside her breast in the sterility of this bleached out world as she breathes only the air of her own world.
She Belongs to the Words
Paints say little about the model in her soul Arabesques flourish in the gentle trace of her curves As she paints the first letter to another sister. She cares little for frozen moments on a camera plane Continually altering the vision of her moving figure Dancing on the page, marking parchment with her life. All the thoughts she exhales are in shiny China ink Reflecting on the walls of days only she may define One line borne of the mist of a precious dawn. Her story floats within the hours since all beginnings Puerile as it was on the birth of a fresh galaxy Syllables beat steadily at the rhythm of her passion. She is flesh yet only for a moment given to all her kin Illusion to the one who can only see proof of her being A body surged from the perfection of fashion magazines. Never will she cease to be to the dreamer seeking a muse For she belongs to the words speaking the treasures she is Endlessly even in the darkness of infinite oblivion. She is, and continues in this essential journey alone Gentle to the air ethereal realm her accomplice For all times printed onto the memory of the universe.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.
2 thoughts on “A Little Piece of Heaven and Other Poems”
These are amazingly touching and evocative poems and a delight to read. Well done, Fabrice!
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Sent from my iPad Joan Leotta Author, Story performer http://Www.joanleotta.wordpress.com