Artwork © Robert Fleming
The Scars
When it dies
the rented space
an evil entity
occupied looms large.
Riefenstahl columns.
The wound left behind
will appear as an abyss
with no hope for healing.
Ovens. Emaciated babies
denied peanut paste.
While feasting it was
swollen and bloated
in such a way as
to obscure its boundaries,
deny its limitations.
Ballroom. Gilt Horses.
Pool. Arc d’Trump.
At times, it seemed the
totality of reality.
A trickster. Its mastery
of the Seven Deadly
blinded Innocence
to its fundamental
banality and impotence.
Total T. Low IQ. Piggy.
Hail to the Chief.
For a time diminished
and marginalized,
Innocence will be
Commanded to survive.
No Kings. [This means you.]
Appearing at first as weak
as a newborn kitten,
it will strengthen.
It will succeed
in closing the wound.
Deep, broad sutures
Harry d’Sousa pulled
tightly down.
The injury will heal
leaving a scar.
It will fade.
In time its origin
may be forgotten.
Yet an artifact remains
lest we forget
the past horror,
Sieg Heil! Drone
dead Downs babe.
Alex. Renee. ICE,
and grant evil
tenancy again.
Martha Ellen is a retired child protection social worker living on the Oregon coast. 1960s fire still burns brightly. She writes to process the events of her life.
Robert Fleming is a digital artist and visual poet from Lewes, DE. His books are White Noir, an Amazon best seller and Con-Way in 4 in 1 #4. Founding/contributing editor of Old Scratch Press and editor of Instant Noodles.