Category: Poetry

Dependency

Icy sunlight veins palm trees silvery

pink – sunrise. I am

huddled tight in wakefulness, a hand

pressed to the side of a snoring husband

another tucked under the blankets. He is

sibilant, a deep absence warming our bed, for now

a boundless lump of Not Quite Yet, but soon

a tie, a cheap pair of shoes, a hand for children

with empty arms, hope, and scars to bite

or cling to.

There, in the missing pieces between hope

and despair, between rest and action,

there is where the potential that will fill

tomorrow waits –

A curled hand,

a balled fist,

a teddy bear nestled beside a garbage bag.

Found on a Bathroom Stall

I don’t care, she wrote

I assume she, but it could have been anyone. I don’t care,

she wrote, scratched into the efficient,

black metal, worn with fingerprints

smudged with angst, matted
in heartbreak.

I don’t care – I didn’t do it. I could

see her fingers curled tight around

a hair clip, a nail file,

her rage and unconcern visibly etched

on the stall, in her grimace. Thin line

of lips pressed against the words spat

in math class behind the full flicker

of another video tutorial. I

don’t care – I didn’t do it and UR a

bitch ass liar.

Her eyes fill with water again, red

burns her face and neck and ears. She

drops her hand, he wasn’t supposed to

share those pictures with anyone,

swore he hadn’t. But she didn’t care.