Quietus

By Katje Kaase


The shack he inhabited

had held his hand too long

The arms that sheltered him

lost their desire to embrace

Its body could no longer

sustain a human form

It never complained

although the winds wrinkled

its outer layers like the face

of an old man

The sun burned rusty

fragments of florid patches

in the windows of its eyes

The rain scarred its features,

erasing its distinctive character


It was hungry for solace,

having been fed meagerly

The doors were locked now,

like a muzzle on a

voracious dog

The human never knew its

perpetual diligence

It had stayed awake for him

But now it could finally

erode in its own emptiness

Unimpeded from its duty,

it exhaled a sigh that was

transformed into a breeze

- its final breath


The shack settled deeper

into the shifting soil and

slumbered in repose

- unburdened at last


September, 2013