Susan (I.P.)

And there she was. Susan Anne
In leaves. Born in a sickle moon
Sun-rosy autumn child. In butterfly-blue
Dance the sky dark, touch a star. She was
Capable of anything; change your life
With those eyes, that impish smile.

Wrapping life around her little finger
Somehow, somewhere, she dropped the spool
Sent the cord cascading, tumbling, sinking
Swift, into the ink-dark ocean.

Nineteen three-quarters now and faded,
Cotton and vanilla phantom
The former harvest glory of her youth
Brittle, broken and cold.
Hair tumbling round a heart-shaped face
In soft wisps of caramel smoke
While green-grey eyes enquired Is it really me you want?

I yearned to know the secret of this mute Persephone
Someone said they knew what vile insect
Had eaten outwards from her core-
Someone who had coaxed her, got so close
As to count the fine hairs furring her pale cheek
Like a peach, pitted, discarded, no longer complete

Somehow supplying silent cohesion
When we all went our busy ways
On return finding her final whisper
A single amber hair feigning translucence in a spider web
I almost wished I had gone with her
Away, to her silent world.