Cacophony –
Your voice, slightly off, speaking my name
as if I wasn’t even in the room.
The sound of silence as I doubled over,
my body wracked by unspeakable sobs
shoved back inward in some attempt
to keep the place sacred, unsoiled
by the sordid stories spinning
already in your mind.
Jingling keys being snatched
from my hands against my will.
Whispered premonitions. Mantras
of “this is for the best.”
Your voice again lulling me into
denial, wrapping me like your present,
then ripping me open, shredding
all the last beautiful things.
Moments Envisioned –
My car careening, a bright light
in the shape of an angel,
translucent, solid hope.
The hollow of your cheek, the hollow
of your eyes, the hollow of my heart,
the hollow of caveman spoons
I would use all week.
My child’s precious smile and
the checkered shirt he wore untucked.
The laces on his shoes, the look
in his eyes after so many days stolen.
You leaning close against me, then
holding my heart in your hands
and looking at me with such a mix
of courageous love and cowardice.
The needle’s point, sinister smiles,
liquid blue persuasion,
liquid blue.
The Scent of Sorrow Closing In –
Burning toast, burning rubber, burning
dreams and burning lies believed by you.
The imagined smell of burning candles,
not allowed in the place you thought
best for me.
Sweat from so many people in the room,
witnesses to this silent crucifixion.
The smell of your skin and
your aftershave, intoxicating,
the last waft of dreams
dissipating.
Cleaning fluids, sanitized spaces,
the smell of cold sterility
and radiators.
Tasted Tragedy –
Morning orange juice gone sour
at her words, venomous vicious, vitriolic.
The taste of innocence soured,
poisoned, sullied.
The taste of blood in my mouth,
mixing with salted sorrow.
Tasteless fast food and slivers of ice,
shattered like myself. Wilted french
fries soaked in grease, unsatisfying
as the situation you pretend
does not exist.
Peppermint breath meant to shock me back
from wherever it was I went. But I've never
been much for peppermint.
Mushy food, tasteless, shoveled down
with plastic utensils and a fury,
desperate to fill myself
with something
just to forget.
Touch of Madness –
My child’s small hand reaching for mine
as with words she drives a stake through my heart
and I drop the glass and cut my hand.
The smell of alcohol on the stranger’s breath
as he stoops to help me gather all I have dropped,
late again. It will not matter why.
Her stilted hug, him twisting my wrist, her pat
on the back, your hand. Your hand. Your hand.
His small arms around my neck, knowing.
My head buried in your chest, knowing.
Your lips soft against my ear, whisper a lie.
My hands press against steel doors,
fumbling to find a combination.
I sink and sob,
freedom forfeited.
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Be always safe,
Karen
Best regards,
Leland
I love the description you created in this stanza..."wrapping me like a present, then ripping me open..." I also love the last portion of the poem...the emotions of each character are so strong that I couldn't help but feel the pull of the words and emotions...making the experience almost tangible, and feeling the weight of the emotions within my breast...the final forfeiture of hope.
You are a master, Dawn.
Cryssa