Captive
written by: Fotoula Reynolds
She died 18 Thursdays ago
And yes, I’m captive to the count
We were cappuccino and latte
Hot chips and poetry
Many knew of her
Some may have met her
Others hoped to
I was her friend
Quiet, unobtrusive and soulful
It still feels disrespectful
In moments when I laugh
And she is not here
In all the days of soundless beats
Beats that she ran out of
I fall right there
In time and place
In the hidden life of trees
Resurrections of truths
Fall to ground like seedlings
Planted, painful prayers
At this late stage still seeking
Not in verse but here in green
The drifting past we share
Wilds, fuels and stays until it fades
Fotoula Reynolds is a writer of poetry, born in Australia of Greek heritage. She lives in the Dandenong Ranges in southern Australia. She convenes a poetry reading group in her local community and regularly attends and participates in spoken word events in and around the city of Melbourne. She is the author of three poetry collections and is published widely in anthologies, journals, reviews and magazines. Fotoula is a 2019 Pushcart Prize nominee.
Latest posts by Fotoula Reynolds (see all)
- Captive - March 23, 2022
- Carpet of Stars - June 14, 2021
- Christmas Floats - December 23, 2020
