At my desk, as my workday closes, I push away client files and settle in to write a bit of verse.
"As the sun sets over the blue and white balcony, I crouch to jam paint-flecked cotton cloth into the cracks around each straining door. I never entirely successfully shore up against winter, but then, I have come to love the sound of mittens rasping on my keyboard, of wind howling under the door, and the ancient oil heater clicking as it fails, and cools ..."
when I'm done punching my own face into the carpet spilling memory of 'useless' from this old life worn from the whittlin' of 'blah blah you used up fucking blah' I might find the strength to say no to your little party
no, I'm not the girl who laughed leapt from planes rode the wave led a march saved a life loved you taught any. one. any. thing.
that girl left
let's pretend I died you can have your fond memories without the guilt that comes from no longer trying...
in the hospital grounds we sit on a bench by the river, before dawn while her boy sleeps she leans accidentally softly on me we don't say much everybody whispers here
her little shoulders shake she tries to explain death "I feel it coming it's a wall there's nothing on the other side"
the birds walk en masse through the trees and around us to the still-glass river gliding silent to split mist from reed rippling the water alive and we see, as it begins to rain that it is a new day ...
your jaw your manly jagged jaw so damned handsome they said
watching your party trick the trick called gentle words like cheers love and baby hand in the small of my back easy with the proud smile winks my way and we're leaving because you can't wait to get me home not because you need to sort me out
last night never happened it's mixed in with the gravel of your voice part of the concrete paving the way home to words like bitch you're pushing it and don't...
I'm hiding something in my purse let me explain she was angling for it her picking up a chair was the clue wiry thing, she was that look the 'you fat cow I can take you' look she should have been right I should have run, cried middle aged caring type all anxiety, soft and fat
but I felt like an experiment I felt hard and 'cos fuck her I'd been waiting for years to see what this rage could do ...