Landscapes. Portraits. 

Canvas dripping watercolour

or squirming in acrylic.

Paper pores closing their mouths

as the smell of life turned cold

permeates the room. 

Paper pores squeezing their eyes

shut tight to the darkness.

Colours greying with the damp

running in rivulets down the walls

and they breathe – collapsed lungs

beneath wrinkled skin. 

Landscapes. Portraits.

An open coffin of art

without names and indecipherable signatures. 

An open coffin of brick,

crumbling like chalk.

A murky purgatory for things

somebody once loved.

 

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The title is a sentence taken from The House With The Stained-Glass Window by Żanna Słoniowska.

Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

https://linktr.ee/KristianaReed