Like river silt in a mason jar, settling.

[crowgirl13]

When you see this, post a poem in your own journal.
This is from the collection, "Crown of Weeds"

Cul-de-sac
~Amy Gerstler

Here the things of the past
come to an end.
Useless longings
that gave off such a whiff
of brimstone, from which
arms of flame once shot
hundreds of feet into the air,
alarming the populace
and laying waste to acres
of charming native vegetation...
well, let's just say these yearnings
have shriveled considerably.
While still kindled
in me, they're now composed
solely of secondhand light
not unlike the moon's:
silvery gray,
damning as faint praise,
insipid as dishwater.
I have even less to offer
than I did years ago,
when you disappeared.
My paltry effects include
a series of sacred earaches,
a Styrofoam life preserver
lifted from an ocean liner,
a photo of King Kong
in a dress suit, and tales
from a wedding night
spent rolling around
in a famous Confederate
battlefield's scratchy
blood-fed weeds.
Erosion rakes the face
of a distant stone cliff
where an ancient master race
carved a vertical city.
They worshiped bearded
river gods hidden under
cattails and algae in deep
ravines miles below. Nature's
radiance flares and pales.
I have no intention of being
direct. Fearing the worst,
I send you this missive -
an ill-tempered penance,
on stationary edged with motifs
of huge saw-toothed glaciers
and crunchy little runner beans.
The letterhead pictures
all I've tickled or sipped
since we parted. O landlord
of my heart, must love always
end with a thud? Won't you
appear in one of the gaping
holes in this prose -
stick your head out of a crater
in this minefield of writing,
so I can grab a handful
of your hair and sink my teeth
into your ear like
some fleshy hors d'oeuvre?