March 15, 2014 at 1:26 pm (philosophy, poetry, Stories) (, , , )

I can’t be certain,
but waiting in breath-held clouds
while the sky cantankered on the knoll
I was surely petrified.

When later I fought to rise
from knees wasted in prayer
my robe caught on the buckle
of the lone soldier’s obstinate shoe.

Salt tears, searing pain
from your desperate wrench
and the high price of absolution,
hung, sharped, in the setting night.

And we will never be away, or will we?
Can we ever utter gladly,
Now we are done with this?
For the home we made together
is still reflected in reddish water.



  1. nobodysreadingme said,

    Bloody hell, Julia. As you know, I simply do not GET a lot of poetry, and often do not even bother to try. But I got this… I think. Maybe I got something you didn’t intend. I don’t care. This is bloody miraculous

    • Julia Dean-Richards said,

      Thank you, Duncan – I am interested in the reader’s journey – we all bring our own stuff to bear, I think.

  2. unfetteredbs said,

    This is so very good Julia. Are we ever done? Absolution… Your words portray the angst and grayness so well

    • unfetteredbs said,

      Ps the reddish waters is perfection

  3. john said,

    Julia, you and Elizabeth back in one month. Be still my beating heart!

    Wonderful piece!

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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