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March 12

It wasn’t the usual dainty cry,

Where her mouth sags over and eyes roll in.

It wasn’t lamb tears that drop away

Creating a slow torturous melodrama.

It wasn’t the sadness I saw swell upon her face

That made me write here to you.

What I heard today, as I now confess,

Is the truth that shadowed my life.


Today I heard how he fucked another woman

With no remorse, where

just this once was a habitable vice.

Because of him

Her life of bronze

Could be molded into an effigy,

any second liquidated.

Today I heard the cracks that he placed

Beneath her feet, stationed there by the eruptible

Furnace, a fraudulent promise of warmth.

He incarcerated her

for ten years, solitary.

And for ten more, her reputation followed.  

Today, he transposed himself,

Resigning on the dotted line.  

He fled to the outskirts,

Just outside of where she resided.

She knew he was inescapable,

Youth snatched up by the devil.

When he finally set her free,

The prisoner, at last, became me.

Published inPoetry

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