written for Shay’s Word Garden (Zachary Schomberg)
At night your Merc pulled in headlights pushing reflections through rippled glass like water across the wall while I waited – stiff as the kitchen table for caress or abscess. Tall, in perpetual tuxedos, you’d stand, champagne glass in hand like a giant puffer fish breathing radiant yellow bubbles in our paisley aquarium You once said I was a cellist in a bullpen, stunned to silence it’s true by your toxic words, and axe-murderer eyes. That time you broke my crystal dove your voice sent curtain cords dancing and flecks shimmered operatic on the floor with my tears. And you told me of another woman, tiny as a blue wren, flitting pretty, aviary quick. The dart and twitter of her still irritates the branches of my dreams. Your champagne stood pleasing no-one on the marble bench when I asked if you loved me. At last I saw your laughter uncorked, watched it dribble half-hearted down your waxy chin. You helped me pack, readied shoes, opened the door. I loaded self-pity into the taxi’s boot my heart like a loudspeaker my hands around my throat. You floated in my vision, the seatbelt clicked and I sailed off in the current of street-lights all tied down and ready to panic.
Out of the Cave 
glad to see a new Worms’ post. This one rocks with panache and poetry with a solid story line ! So many exquisite images to linger over ; each stanza bristles with inventiveness; this one was worth waiting for 🙂
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This one sent chills up my spine, Jo.
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This is hard to read, it’s so painful. The dove especially kind of broke my heart. Someone said that lovers who turn against us are “intimate assassins.”
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Great term!
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“..for caress or abscess.,” indeed. The lunar landscape of a toxic relationship is rendered all too vividly here, and resonates with me–these are the memories that haunt our poetry as we try to exorcise them–sweet as poisoned honey. Excellent writing, amazing images, full of the sad but compelling truth of what was. I especially liked the aquarium image, and “..you told me/of another woman,/tiny as a blue wren..” brought back a personal memory of being shown another woman’s glove, tiny as a child’s. Like a kick to the stomach.
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thanks so much.
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Wow. Difficult subject. The images you use to tell it are so potent and original. So well done.
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thanks very much, Bob!
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The last lines add a layer of depth that really contribute to the power of this dark tale. I find they carried my attention beyond the poem.
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