Snowite (parts ix – xiv)

This is the last post in this series. For post one click here and for post two click here

(ix)
imagine
planning to poison
(innocently)
your neighbour's
noisy dog

a BBQ,
their 
stiff 
blue
chlorine 
pool,
a juicy piece 
of your chop
“poor sweet thing
look at those eyes”
etcetera etcetera

this was worse


(x)
I am not a murderer
I believe
in principled logistics

boarding school
would give
him a chance to breathe
without seeing
his dead wife
returned to childhood
at every moment.

Departure day
hung with the grief
of pending education...
irksome tears,
expected empathy...
my smile gracious
as a parting kick.

(xi)
He wilts without her
flaccid as the winter grass,
grieving for his

grief.
Stupid ass.

I take him back
to the pub
seeking nostalgia,
reminders of our meeting.

I trace crosses
through the condensation
I cross and cross
but he never asks
what is so wrong.

I kiss his mouth
his tepid skin

Later
my hands thump
his hollow chest...

feeble love.

(xii)
School holidays
again?
Terms are shorter
than a yo-yo's string.

The mirror
inspires
enthusiastic
use of foundation..

I remove it from the wall,
hide the hook -
a photo from our wedding
my yellow bouquet
against my heart.

He doesn't comment,
his time
is not mine.

(xiii)
Beyond the garden;
the bush,
a wall to keep me in.

They walk together there

{coming home
with wildflower posies,
scribbled bark,

the russet and gold 
velveteen corpse
of a stunning butterfly}

It is decided that:
my plans,
my consideration,
my thoughtfulness
are nil.

She comes home for good,
the house;
built around her hours,
scored with her
clothes
books
fantasies,
stinking
of her innocence.


(xiv)
The pub
is not a bad one

after three wines

I find
the red light
conducive
to more
positive thought.

Eric's arms
feel strong. 
He tells me
he has no daughters.