and then there was
that time
that time in the kitchen
that night
that night with the revolver
(the empty chamber in my bed)
aimed and cocked cocked and aimed
at the other side of the dead-
bolted
door
(even in the dark white like my thighs)
and the thousand-eyed fly and I
held him
off
the other side I held him
a thousand nights that night
bare shouldered cross legged thousand eyed cocked aimed
and nothing
nothing showed the sun
on the other side of the dead-
bolt
and I am still
not
un
locked
this poem humbly offered up for OpenLinkNight at dVerse poets.
great line break at dead bolted door...even in the dark white like my thighs...great line...love the repetition in this...dang....that second stanza is tight too...great piece...
ReplyDeleteIntriguing that, despite the danger implied with the revolver, you never really say what is on the other side of the door.
ReplyDeleteExcellent
ReplyDeleteFilled with mystery and incipient violence...and it's the stillness here despite the revolver, the empty chamber, the noir, that intrigues. Brrrrr.. Well done..!
ReplyDeleteI love the tension and, even more so, the not knowing what's on the other side of the door. It allows the reader to make their own judgement and speculations so the impact of the piece is unique to each one.
ReplyDeleteSomehow, Earthgirl, I feel inexplicably sad and you have left a palpable tension in the air
ReplyDeletehow the light / leans in
ReplyDelete