for years and, I'm stuck. I haven't had this piece out in years, and this evening, I pulled it out of the drawer. It's one that's long been near and dear to my heart - maybe too near and dear because of my love of Lorca. Anyway, here's the version I began working with earlier this evening:

Duende

Without turning from the window she asks,
“Do you know what it means to be broken?”
There is no answer.

Flat and ribbon-like, he wormed throughout
Consuming everything until she,
Finally was a husk.

Remnants of their dark duende echo
Through the room like a ghostly flamenco,
Seductively, while

Lucent, she keeps her vigil at the window each day
As the yellow sun passes through her smearing
The floor like butter.

Copyright Cher Cunningham, 2002 ~

And here's where I am at this point:

Duende

Without turning from the window she asks,
“Do you know what it means to be broken?”

Flat, ribbon-like he wormed throughout
consuming her leaving only a husk.

Like a ghostly flamenco, remnants of
their dark duende echo provocatively
within the room. As she keeps her

vigil at the window, the pale sun cuts through
her smearing the floor like butter.

The pale sun cuts through her how, or like what? While I like the imagery of a butter-smeared floor, I finally concur that it doesn't work here. What can I use that fits in with the picture of a husk? I see a tattered corn husk or perhaps an empty shell, but I can't quite wrap anything around that vision. Ideas anyone?

Thanks in advance, Cher

np: Hard to Explain - CJ , Pale Sun Crescent Moon

I see that some have read my post, and I thank you for that. Anyway, I woke up with words in my mind this morning and while in shower they formed into the following ending. I would really love some feed back on your thoughts if you feel like adding anything. Thanks again.

Duende

Without turning from the window she asks,
“Do you know what it means to be broken?”

Flat, ribbon-like he wormed throughout,
consuming her, leaving only a husk.

Like a ghostly flamenco, remnants of
their dark duende echo provocatively
within the room. As she keeps her

vigil at the window, the pale sun throws
her tattered shadow to the floor as she
whispers, “I do.”

Copyright Cher Cunningham, 2002, 2006

I like how you ended it. And I like the idea of the sun throwing the shadows to the floor.

The butter imagery was a little weird, but it could have worked too.
After I husk my corn, I like butter on it.

I like how this starts out, but I find the revised ending to be confusing.

I'd like to see the pale sun "illuminating" something...instead; I feel like I what is left inside that husk is a dead horse, and I simply don't believe it, based on the earlier lines in the poem.

Confusing ... how? There isn't much left in that husk. What lines lead you to feel differently? Not complaining or anything, I'm truly interested in your interpretation.

Thanks!

Cher

Sorry, Cher! The reason I found it confusing was because I read your wonderful, rich poem on 10 hrs sleep over 3 nights, having worked 39 stressful hours in those 3 days. That said, my brain cells were so worn out that I didn't realize that the end of your poem was answering the question posed at the beginning. That's why I was confused. My brain was worn out.

One other thing, regarding the pale sun illuminating or not - it does not take away from your poem to have the sun not illuminating. Again, I was tired. Your poem is rich as is, and not every poem is going to end up being brighter at the end, as you know. Was just something I threw out there, a response from the way blue yonder