Elinor sits by herself,
stirring her tea
while stewing on the stillness
left in his wake.
She measures
his absence in how much her mildew
has grown since he left.
Jamie had fled with his doxy,
(her boss),
claiming the kitchen
she always kept polished for him
was worse than a surgery room;
he said that their marriage
stank like corpses of passion
slow-cooked for dinner.
Since his departure,
drunk on decay, she made friends
with the rodents and rust;
and let roaches tickle her toes
and she fumes
on how to settle her scores
by spoon-feeding poisonous potions,
stewed from her mildew and sores.
Written for Sunday Muse and Poetry Pantry… I felt a bit like Elinor has become a bit like Miss Havisham
—
December 1, 2019
Björn Rudbergs writings 
Sounds like a cross between Eleanor Rigby and Mrs. Haversham. Especially like corpses of passion slow-cooked for dinner.
I can see her face, twisted and plot(ty), half blind and confused… through the stench of “corpses of passion / slow-cooked for dinner”. I bet whatever she does next will be terrible for all. Especially for her.
He left her with some very brutal words. Interesting that her shiny kitchen went downhill in his wake, as if she polished it only for him, and not for herself as well.
A dark take on the dark picture. I guess she kept the kitchen only for him instead of herself.
Oh this is dank and dark. No pity here she is on her way deep into darkness
Didn’t think passion could be stewed. But the master did it. Bravo
Thanks for dropping by my blog Björn
Much👼🏽love
Goodness, that was dark
“drunk on decay” – some of us are addicted to that slow walk into darkness. Thank you, Björn for this vision.
Ewww! This Miss Havisham is a darn sight more proactive than the prototype. Delightfully revolting!
You paint such a vividly dark portrayal of Miss Havisham! Especially this part is powerful: “she fumes on how to settle her scores by spoon-feeding poisonous potions, stewed from her mildew and sores.”
Let’s hope one day she throws open the doors and windows and lets his memory fly far far away, so she can begin to live again. You’ve drawn this character with surgical precision. Well-done.
Oh dear.. it gets worse before it gets better, hopefully. I like how that picture took you to Havisham!
You had me at drunk on decay. This is dark and wonderfully written Bjorn!
This was…visceral. It roiled right through–what a poem!
Perhaps I shouldn’t, but I do relate to this mildewy milieu.
The kitchen as an image of a scorned and broken heart. That explanation holds up quite well Björn. I like it!
Such an intense and captivating poem
Oh yes!!!! Miss Eleanor Rigby ~~~ would love to set music to your wonderful lyrics.
A dark and intense poem. The title alone paints a vivid and scary image. But what a pity that Elinor had never heard the saying, “A clean kitchen is a sign of an unlived life.” So much fun stuff to do instead of that boring housekeeping.:)
Please, please keep that mixer of potions away from my kitchen!