Obelisk by Gemma Meek

We tread timidly, in shell-shocked silence,
around a house that was once a home.
I think you mistake my abeyance for peace.
I am fermenting a fury as old as time,
a simmering sourness that sits well with me.

There were brackish words that caught in my throat
and there were words you wouldn't think to say.
I don't know when it became too late.
A pathetic implosion, a magician's cloak flapped
and we suddenly recoiled, awkward as strangers.

I watch with resignation as this huge thing disappears,
like a ship sounding one last mournful
warning as it glides out into the freezing fog.
We float in stagnant water; two pale, lifeless bodies waiting to be discovered.

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