' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' After The Banging Of The Door

I watched

shell shocked
as the photographs

of you
& I

become torn
scraps

scattered over your frock

like shelled peas
lying on your lap

images
of us

captured by the sun
return

to little bits
of nothing

(tears hide in my eyes
without falling) .

You stand
now the deed is done

like some
mythical Greek woman

brush the broken
bits of us

from you
scattered like confetti.

Your hand turns
the shiny doorknob

holding you
in reflection.

by Dónall Dempsey

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