He hit her
Across the mouth
With the back of his hand.
I could taste her blood;
Run, salty tears
Her lip bitten, hurt
He stood over her, threatening
Displeased,
Tensed to kick her.
He did.
Sweet Jesus;
I can’t watch,
Disinterested and clinical.
I can’t look away somewhere
Pretending not to see it happen.
The party when on;
He picked her up
And she followed him away.
I bet she has before.
Archive for February 11, 1991
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Questions to be Asked of the Closet
Posted: February 11, 1991 in PoetryTags: Closet, Dark, Kiss, Love
it’s dark and she giggles
then tentatively whispers my name;
I stand silent
breathing hard
but oh so quiet,
covered in the blankets of darkness.
again she stretches
to call out my name,
question marks solidifying,
echoing away.
I know exactly where she is,
six inches away;
she’s reaching for me,
asking, yielding.
I could seize her throat
and crush her breath
with a lazy hand;
I could kiss her
here in the dark
and tell her that I love her.
ask the closet.
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