It seemed to whisper,
Good-by,
good-by.
Everything that had been a part of her.
Everything bound up
in her deepest roots.
Good-by,
good-by.
Fear fell away, congealed.
Fear, frozen, oddly gentle,
like a baby rabbit in a trap.
Good-by,
good-by.
The air, thick with feathers,
floated softly down.
Suddenly stilled.
Good-by.
Good-by.
This is an erasure poem, written as a response to Anna Montgomery’s prompt over at dVerse Form for All. You’ll enjoy learning all about this form and reading what other poets have created. I chose Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind opened to a page at random. The scene in play is that which occurs when the Union invades and sets fire to Tara. I first read this classic as a teen and again about twenty years ago.
The pub opens a 1500 EST…come on over.
Thank you, Anna.