I saw a run-down home: cheap and tattered curtains, they were yellow and stained, the grass was overgrown, the wood paneling on the house was missing pieces, I think the paint was blue, but so much of it had chipped off it was hard to tell. The concrete steps leading up to the open, damaged door were littered with cigarette butts, empty bottles, empty cans, cans of cigarette butts – one was tipped over and spilling, here she sat:
her body was large and swollen – she was pregnant,
The way I love you is like the unfolding of the petals on a spring blossom – new, gentle, and willing to open up in the light, sway with the changing winds, and hold on through the storms that bend the bough.
My vision becomes blurry: the impulse begs for control, muscles twitch in anticipation; my knees cannot withstand the quaking – a crack resounds as bone meets stone. I cry because it is too much to bear! Grabbing my shirt by the neck, I rip it – as much as I can – I destroy it.
I look down: rags, scars and my nakedness.
Someone gasps, another whispers.
My vision clears: I see them all watching, staring, and gawking as I wither within – exposed before them.
A rope moans with weight as it slowly rotates the delicate form it was given as prey: Her eyes are bloody, yellow, and bulging; a cloth over her lips hides her gaping mouth – her last scream was silenced. Her thin arms are snapped, bound behind her, trails of blood trace her legs, and her toes drown in a scarlet stain beneath her.
When the sun rises over the eastern hills and glides across the glassy water of the Shuswap in the morning he is stalking his reflection in the shallows his neck recoiled to his breast surveying himself in discovery singing grotesquely.