Friday, October 28, 2011

Flash Fiction 55: 10/28/11,

Black steel bars
spaced to see, grip,
wave, grasp at-
not climb through.

Homeland retreating.
grass and green trees,
red house,farm,town, mountains
diminish into long specks.

Face has two
vertical lines from pressing.
Ears strain for bird calls,
Friends voices,
Church bell, trains hoot. 

Letter, newspaper unfolded
Photographs inked
language sooty
Exile begun.


G-Man said...

I loved your 55, but I wish I knew who or what was being whisked away.
But thats the beauty of The 55, you always leave em wanting MORE.
Great writing My Friend...You Rock!
Thanks for playing, and have a Kick Ass Week-End

Brian Miller said...

is it a self imposed exile? might not be a bad thing you know...smiles.

Alice Audrey said...

Prison? Holocaust train?

izzy said...

I have been reading about a poet who lived most of his life away from Poland- not self imposed I don't believe. Tried the coat on for size...

Mama Zen said...

I was thinking prison, too.

hope said...

I sort of feel like that in my "temporary" office the size of a closet.

But you made it sound much more creative..nice one!

Nara Malone said...

This has the feel of deportation, very moving.

Enchanted Oak said...

Oh, Izzy, this is good. You tried on the coat for size, and it fit. I love the terseness.

Lydia said...

Ha, I was going to write practically the identical thing as Enchanted Oak!

You really truly captured the essence of exile as I would imagine it to be. Even self-imposed exile makes my heart yank inside when I consider what it would mean in one's life.

This was a brilliant 55!