Fluttering fingertips traced the contours of her windowsill
as the harsh beauty of a gaunt face stared back at her.
Husband….Shadow; and all things gasping in the putrid night.
Wailing night terrors slit a gash in her side as she was left…
A crumpled rag doll,
Weeping in the suddenness of the suede living room chair,
Two directions of the fabric: the cruel roughness of one side,
…And the lavishness of the other.
The gaping hole in her serenity.
Her bird-like diaphragm expanding—a human humming bird,
hovering like a trembling ghost as the sudden flashes
of torn sheet-metal, feathered shrapnel and heart murmurs
whisper over her eyes.
She’s drowning her sorrows in sparkling shoes,
but they can’t spare her from the incessant jangling in her mind.
What did she expect?
Go home, Dorothy.
Coat your sparkling shoes in crimson blood
And plunge to your death.
No comments:
Post a Comment