She hates how wildflowers
will not open in winter,
how birds and leaves drift
past the house like strangers
on a long walk.
Though blind, sometimes
her hands flutter at the door
but the lock is screwed tight.
No speck of dust, no fleck
of memory splays forth
to recollect the pristine joy
of having loved, once.
The wings of grief linger
in the silent box of her heart
while outside,
in the reverential sadness
of the night, bats swoop
and flap past her shuttered,
inscrutable house.
© 2005 Christine Klocek-Lim
Christine Klocek-Lim 
A very dormant, lonely piece – so throbbing with a loss of, and longing for, tender that it nearly breaks the heart in two.
wow, haunting, lonely.’though blind, sometimes her hands flutter at the door but the lock is screwed tight.’ . . . just awesome.
Nick and Eric, thanks for reading and picking up the loneliness of the poem. I’m pleased it spoke to you.
wonderful wonderfulphotograph”in the reverential sadnessof the night, bats swoop and flap,though blind, past her shuttered,inscrutable house.”love this partyou didnt even have to say they are blindits understoodvery powerful image
i like this a lot, a lot. such descriptive words. i love:”the wings of grief lingerin the silent box of her heart”well, i like it all, really.
camera,Thanks for stopping by and for your kind words. “you didnt even have to say they are blindits understood” Very good suggestion! I’ll be changing that line. Thanks.Ruthanne,Thank you. I’m pleased the image and poem worked for you.
very well done!
“…how birds and leaves driftpast the house like strangerson a long walk.” This is the line that really works for me! I read not only the loss but age in this too. Love the two doors!
Excellent poem and a very fine photograph that resonates with it. I think haiga is coming to western poetry!
Andrew, thanks!Pat, thanks for reading. I had age in mind, also, when I wrote this so I’m very pleased that came through the poem to you. :-)Denis, I know very little about haiga, but I know a compliment when I see one. Thank you. Now I’m off to read up on haiga . . .