That Flash Before Your Eyes

That Flash Before Your Eyes

It is very hard to write this way, beginning things backward…
“The Torrents of Spring” (1926)- Ernest Hemingway

Life, Death, and That Flash Before Your Eyes

From a pram to this hearse. This dark.
To wear the dark. This simple nothingness.

It’s fitting funeral weather.
Weather is a funeral’s skin.

Rain.
Mud sucks.

It’s a brute sky,
and the sun is broken.

But I didn’t waste my years – too late
for a rewrite. Hindsight.

I trespass on sentences. My last words.
Are there still vowels in my mouth?

My grandchildren are a taste of moonlight.
They’re a reflection. The sun. A rip of light.

Two sons are mine from another woman.
It is no small thing, this love for them.

A terrible gloom when a girl’s father dies.
Grief is a terrible primary colour.

Wed. I wanted the whole of him.
Breathless. He was on my tongue.

But how do they fly, I asked.
They’re weightless, he said.

The Lord is my shepherd, I said.
Confirmation is always white

as snow as mountain tops as cotton socks.
As plimsolls. Belly white. Toothpaste.

The smell of salt. Scent of isopropyl.
Lavender. Soap. And ether. Ether.

Breath held in this vast swing of sky.
Ready. To begin. I begin.

The dark. To wear the dark. To be
the dark in this simple nothingness.

written to prompts: dVerse One True “Hemingway” Sentence” and Miz Quickly’s Big One. Image is micro-abstract of Hieronymus Bosch’s signature on his painting “The Garden of Earthly Delights”. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter   ©Misky 2021

23 responses to “That Flash Before Your Eyes”

  1. Yes! This is wonderful poetry! Hits hard, resonates, like a stream of consciousness but better! A friend of mine, my age, passed in her sleep last night ….. another reason your words have deep meaning today.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Misky, your poem begs to be read aloud. It’s exquisitely beautiful and sad. I like how you matched up colors and shadows with the feelings and the “odd” pairings that really make the verses jump vividly. I’m guessing you were talking about either Bosch or Hemingway at the end of their life. Can you tell I love this poem?

    Liked by 2 people

  3. This is incredibly hard-hitting and poignant! 💝 I especially love; “My grandchildren are a taste of moonlight. They’re a reflection. The sun. A rip of light.”

    Liked by 1 person

  4. This poem is stunning. I love every chink and nuance. These lines especially:
    “Mud sucks.” (the sensory impressions of this – wonderful!)
    “The sun. A rip of light.”
    “Grief is a terrible primary colour.”
    “Breath held in this vast swing of sky.”
    You expressed the pure smarting feeling of grief so well. Very powerful poem ❤

    Like

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