Mary Shelley

Remnants of the past…embedded.

Curled inside chalky lava flows

Stuck to a shape…ripples in stone.

Only elements change its appearance.


I and everything wait for the rain.

The parched flowers and grasses

Fragile skin, stalks, browns and beiges.

Bloomed full, so easily, last spring.


The bridge is out, lower in the canyon

Where the Klickitat heads for Mt. Adams.

Along the dryness, scattered tree limbs

So light, they remind me of bones.


Whitened and greyed by summer

I imagine them becoming a form

A collage of life, blood, and image

Uneven substance, knees, elbows, heart


I feel a sprinkle. It passes quickly.

Once, I believed your hands were so soft

I thought they were made of petals.

Now, I know that I was right.


For, I’m the one who made you.


Forced to walk close to the highway

I pass a row of old houses

Where the highway bends between bluffs

Carrying an assortment of sticks, limbs, knots


The dogs bark at everyone.



13 Comments on “Mary Shelley

  1. Just had to do a presentation in my english course on Mary Shelley and the writing of Frankenstein. This post definitely caught my eye. Lol.


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