Colin D. Halloran
Elegy in Ash
Julie’s fists are white
clenched—drained of blood, like
anguished screams have drained her being.
Smoke sprawls heavy on everything,
an unwanted lover lingering while
Julie’s fists turn white with rage.
White like ash she inhumes with every breath,
death and memory filling voids left by
anguished screams that drained her being.
The West Coast struggles for air;
she struggles to not breathe in her friends.
Julie’s fists are white as ghosts.
White like teeth telling tales to coroners,
like faces hearing coroners’ tales, tales turning
to anguished screams that drain her being.
Passion—love—is said to burn.
But all fires consume their fuel and
Julie’s fists are white with
anguished screams. Her being: drained.
—Submitted on 09/22/2020
Colin D. Halloran is the author American Etiquette (Main Street Rag, 2020), Icarian Flux (Main Street Rag, 2015), and Shortly Thereafter (Mint Hill Books, 2012), winner of the Main Street Rag Poetry Book Award. His poems have appeared in BluePrint Review, Caper Literary Journal, Long River Run, Medulla Review, The New York Times, and other journals. Halloran holds an MFA from Fairfield University.
SUBMIT to What Rough Beast via our SUBMITTABLE site.
If you enjoyed today’s poem and you value What Rough Beast, consider making a donation to Indolent Books, a nonprofit poetry press.