Faulkner is a heavy weight of old grievances
unresolved, the fester of years
burning an indignant hole
in a pocket full of rusty nails
the bitter smell left upon the
fingers that reach inside
a taste like blood on the tongue

It’s my Mother’s words about the family
how her Daddy was the twin born last
separated by mere moments
from the seat of glory
always coming in second
army, not navy
bearing the first ancestral name
but not the badge of recognition
always falling short
and never quite good enough

It’s Grand-mere recounting
childhood memories at midnight
the thunderstorm raging but forgotten
under the smothering blanket of the past
her voice like slow honey
eyes lit and heart full of old thunder
from the days before the market crash
when Mother and Daddy were still
in the same sentence
long before Pass Christian was
swallowed by the raging sea,
not for the first time,
long before she was sent away
to trusted friends who could afford her
and even longer before
the infidelity and inevitable divorce

Faulkner is the silk of twilight
the seduction of the big house
beaconing with warm windows
cradled by the mythology
built within it, board by board
the old glory still visible
out of the corner of the eye
like a meteor that blazes
between moments so quickly
that although you can’t prove it,
you still know it was there

Hi friends! Sorry I have been away from here for a while. Back to school coupled with a whole bunch of pressing projects have had me busy with just about everything but writing. Oh yeah and also I’ve been devouring a book by Faulkner – my first of his. Thanks for reading!