Was it those serial installments
fat-catting her lobby, of decrepit flesh?
smiling wryly in recognition of
warm friendly front steps?
ohhh, those
peel and prepare expressions on that face
looking back at hers... like a back door
picture, remembers the wars, we never
speak about, but know they're there?
He calls and the nightmares begin again
She wishes empathy at best
But all she can muster is regret...
Some years later, she smelled the shrugs
in his mind... walking with rags bemused
that life was fine...while folding up
blue lights of his Friday night missions
the ones that cracked her windows and
shattered trusting mirrors
bringing 7 more years of
bad feelings, trying to fad way
a raised black and blue eyebrow that
turned her heart into a melee
She played it by ear, sucking on nerve
any crooked crumbs that spelled a musty
nicer word... was good wine in his hands
drifting him back to a magic moment
where ego feels so darn warm and graceful
while cradling darkness which was rapidly
waning the hum of unfamiliar roads
leading
to his hideaway...in a place most never go
He calls and the nightmares begin again
She wishes empathy at best
But all she can muster is regret...
Even now, she smells his faint but
hellish grudge, that vomits her, to face
the sounds of his voice... she rushes to
close today, to sleep... to forget
like falling through a manhole and coping
with matters of mocking regret... snapping
her jaw clean in two... her pleas sounding
pathetic and feeble
He called and the nightmares began again
she prayed to feel sympathy, empathy, something
but the nightmares of cages returned
in walls of sadness embarking trains of refrain
Deeply tucked in the recesses of a new and better life
drifting back to magic moments of childhood,
embracing christ
a new voice gargles her morning routine, having
a second chance at days she had forgotten
Holding her head higher now, earning her own money
being brought back by some power of infinite longing
while she finishes her cigarette, and closing the door behind
she feels the once bidding fear, turn into amusement
there is a passage into womanhood, she never
knew existed, an attachment growing while
drifting into thoughts, of sultry independence
that once forgotten glow, shyly returns
upon her daily mundane chores that allow
and touch her heart, knowing each sunlight hour
closing her eyes, to allow the words to well
across paper... from pen
knowing no more alarm, just the sage of
joy and sadness that knocks on her door
waiting to hear her say, "come in"
