Sta.sh
There are dirty footprints on the stairs,
on the carpet, even in the bathtub and
your margin of error is growing smaller
while your mistakes are gaining stature.
There are bloody handprints on the walls,
on the doors, and even on the bed sheets.
The evidence is everywhere. The DNA and
the circumstantial. Look closely at the
scene of these crimes. You will see:
This is all it takes to become undone:
An eyelash on a pillowcase, a lipstick
smear or a strand of hair. The scent
of perfume. Even your eyes darting aside
and your jaw muscles working hard not
to be found out. Your grinding teeth
or the taste of tongue in your mouth.
You just laugh but I warn you:
She will take the cat and the spices from
the rack under the sink. She will take the
dishes and glasses and the ginsu knives.
The coffee cups are packed. So are her bags.
She'll take the kitchen sink if she thinks
she can manage it to Arkansas or Texas or
New Orleans. Wherever it is she runs off to.
Make no mistake, in the end she will leave:
She will leave you with only the shoes
on your feet and the clothes on your back
and there will be no small mercies here
from her. No one is going to lay their palm
upon your cheek and say "all is forgiven."
The cockroaches will have the last laugh
in your hearth and home when she is gone,
off into some sunset. Never even looking back.
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Now they'll tell you this wont happen if you are careful enough, but consider you fondness for threats. It's like a rubber band pulled taught between two people waiting to see
who let's go first.(?) How do you want to see that game end? Now, how do you hear their aged laments?
Fantastic work!
i love this poem~
love the transition.
they think their luck will always hold.
...but if they really cared,
they really wouldn't, would they?
they just want to "have their Kate -
and Edith too".