Fall Poetry Contest - Top Ten Finalist
you are purple-lipped and poisoned
the shape of your sleep kept steady
by white coats and tubed tentacles.
the resident runs a hot finger tip
along your lashes: writing you off.
by habit I remain silently trembling
smelling of still frosted lawns and
the salt from the sidewalks. your
first-born is melting: unsatisfied,
and the ends of her chocolate hair
splitting with defeat. I should have,
but I didn’t. the sacrifices you made.
the purple wine with the bitten straw
hiding under the bathroom sink. I
don’t blame you. the stiff linen bites
at your legs, your mechanical breath
taunting me: this is what the end is.
and when I should be painting to my
memory the remaining colors of you,
I think of all of the porcelain in your
mouth exploding like firecrackers
when they push your lukewarm corpse
into the embrace of persistent flames.