Trouble slithers there sliming up my back, raindrops fall. There's no hope in wax, no hope in dusty broom closets, no truth in split tongues or monkeys fingers
or wind chime rhymes.
He's not here.
He's not here, yet he stirs my breath. He circles my mind. He fingers my thigh. He holds my hand as I pet our dog. He breathes down my neck as I type each word. He holds the quiet in my ears.
The music stops when he's not around.
The wind blows because he's gone.
The rain brings mud and worms, the lines go down.
The river gushes through the yard
trapping bees and centipedes.
The pan burns my dinner. The wine has been left out.
The ice melts. The kettle grows cold.
I grow tired but the bed doesn't fit, my feet hang over.
The sheets are crumbed. The pillows too flat.
That's where I reel in the deep truths.
Fuck right now, everything will change, shit can not stay put.
I can't stand to burn a candle.
I let the phone ring, forget to pick up the mail,
don't take out the garbage.
I don't care if the gate is left open, the cats runs away,
or the rooster’s crowing.
I love the tortured soul, she makes me weep,
twists my heart, sends daggers down my spine.
Fuck awesome, that shit shifts, turns
and spirals all over the place.
The Laundry sits in the washer. The dish rack is full.
The coffee's run out. I won't turn on a light, pick up my shoes or vacuum the rugs.
We must live my dears.
Fuck me and her and him. Fuck skin and bones. Fuck happiness.
It's what's left, after that shit disappears,
that holds the precious light.
It’s what is yet to come, what we don't know
what doesn't kill us. Fucking hope. We are powerless without it but then we turn to despair,
there I wallow, spilling all over the kitchen floor.
Hope holds me, holds me like a potted plant.