I Locked Him Away

I locked him away,

buried him beneath

the hibiscus plant

behind the shed with the

door that always creaks.

And I piled on the dirt

with my father’s old

shovel, caked

in labor’s soil.

I buried him

where the lake

swallows the

red-clay shore.

Thick and unforgiving,

The clay mimics the

color of my grimy

wool sweater.

And apples fall

to the ground

where I buried him.

I buried him

in the basement

underneath the pipe

that leaks and leads

to our bathroom.

The bathroom

where I first learned

what blood and water

look like together.

I buried him

next to the radiator

in hopes that it would

keep him warm, when

my body no longer could.

I buried him under

our bed so I would

never have to wake

and think and

remember.

I buried him behind the

shed with my

father’s old shovel

so I no longer had

to look at the box

on my mantel, letters

spelling out a name

I spent months

practicing and

writing and

believing.

But -

it didn't matter.

It never did.

Reviews

[Beccy]

You cannot bury memories, that much I have learned; and of course, how to live with them.

Beautiful use of our language; the third verse a poetical tour de force.

Beccy.

[Kelly Scheppers]

Wow! ...that's some love TKO! I loved the part about the radiator keeping him warm...and the closing, you left it simple, and brief, and cutting!

Nice to meet another "Kelly'!