POETRY
Call My Name
A prose poem
Call my name.
Whisper with a breeze from a world where pain is not a constant, where the sun paints smiles on faces devoid of worries.
Brush my fears off with your feather touch. Soft. Let the goosebumps of cherished memories shine on my skin cracked by resentment.
Fly me back to the no-harm days that didn’t smell of finality. Imagination had a rosy hue of hope, not the ash of the faded portraits.
Call my name like you did when it tasted sweet. When bitterness didn’t swell in your mouth after swishing the two syllables around. Does the subtle flavor linger on your tongue? Bygone. Irrecoverable. Does the rancid aftertaste eat away at your desolate lips?
Utter each letter one by one. Split them apart. Further. I crumbled into shards of recollections when our light-bathed space turned ebony.
Bright images on the screen never fade. Yet your voice will drown out with the drag of empty days. My name will be an orphan. My mind—clinging to the hints of us dried out in my deserted heart.
© Masha Zubareva 2024
My sincere gratitude to Write Under the Moon and its editors for the opportunity to share.
