her near warmth in the bed beside
had gone down blonde, but beside
me now — her broken english
in pieces on the hardwood floor
in this home her home the decorative
grammar tied back against the white wall
paint bubbling under the low sun
on the sullen sill
an immigrant here
something a dark dirty brown darts by
leaps and sprays I’m asleep again my
back pierced through with her bed spring
the sun is coming from outside she is gone
my sweat mine punctuated by the phone call
terrible news.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Greatly enjoyed this piece – well writ.