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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Adult Romance  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Featured Review on this writing by DampKitten


A Dried Garden

These hours I spend watching the proceedings outside my window have increased of late.

Still, I remember fondly when children arrived, and our house was alive with my mother’s voice and the music she instructed her pupils in.

She’d twice toured Europe and was twice the toast of Vienna, a soloist known internationally for her smoldering bow attack. Only in my imagination do I see her holding her conductor’s hand and bowing before those applauding audiences.

But her musical engagements dissolved with her marriage to my father, and I have known Cynthia best from the infinitely sad expressions that lingered on her face and those things that might have been.

He had made his fortune in armaments, and I do not imagine my father wanted my mother for more than a bauble on his arm.

And then his shotgun made us orphans on a December night.

Today, my sister, Felice, will tell me, “Gregory, the gate needs oiling,” or “Gregory, the roof is in disrepair.”

And thus, we hide behind the doors that hide behind the decay of our weed-stricken yard and our rusted gate.

And I am subjected to Cynthia’s ghost as Felice pulls a mournful bow across those gutty strings or hers.

Disrepair? I should think so.

Yet I refuse to leave my window, for I am lost in its funerary dreams.


L Reis

Submitted: August 03, 2022

© Copyright 2022 Laird. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



I have read this like 3 different times. And it has left me feeling sad but no words to express my thoughts on this poem properly. So I hope you accept these few words to let you know someone read it, and felt it.

Thu, August 4th, 2022 3:37am


Hi, Nite-Owl,
I'm thrilled you took the time to read this piece; your sincerity is well appreciated. Generally speaking, my thought on the theme is that one person too often becomes the custodian of another's memory. This free verse poem is open for interpretation.


Wed, August 3rd, 2022 10:36pm


I’m no strangers to dreams… this story is one to think about.

Thu, August 4th, 2022 4:53am


Thank you, samnash! I wasn't sure how to categorize this piece. Compressed fiction or poetry? Perhaps I should call it flash fiction. What do you think?


Wed, August 3rd, 2022 10:45pm


Extremely poignant piece, Laird. A reflection of disparity. The decay of the estate is a reflection and analogy of the spirits inside...symbolism.

Fri, August 5th, 2022 4:55am

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