The Sound of Backwards Hinges.A Poem by Jeanmarie Flaherty
He's drenched in all the Tuesdays I walked away from, backwards, towards him, in every
hour
I shattered mirrors with the violence of tears...
he's
suffering
his mistakes, this time, he's guilty and I'm
in between the seasons, stuck where it snows, with bare feet and frayed blue jeans hanging over the edge of sunshine....
I'm waiting, it's not April, there's no delight of discovery and he's holding on, so tight, the bruises of suffocation and the irritation of doorways...
I'm not Van Gogh, I tell him, I can hear you just fine.
He's.....
burned with apprehension and decisions I can't change, I remold myself to fit into his week but the days are disordered and Sunday hangs upside down....
and I'm stuck
on the edges of his voice and inside the scent of his favorite sweater, it's not January
(I whispered)
it's not the beginning no matter how backwards we are, it's not....
and my legs beg to be bare as I dangle over the end, I hang his noose up neatly so as not to tangle death but it's imminent, he said, and maybe
it's
almost short enough
for me.
My knees speak in the knock knocking hope of front doors, I bang across the wood of bed frames and discover how it feels to be alone, I close my eyes and think...
that it certainly isn't June this time...
that we haven't been discovered in quite some time, that the letters are folded maybe to small, that my handwriting learned just how to scramble
and I'm thankful God didn't watch me today...
maybe I'll be pure again, maybe
he'll let go.
It's not...
you and I
(I tell him)
but the mockery of how we sighed at midnight, it's the jealousy of March...you know how she crumbles...you know how she contorts and twists things....
and hangs words like nooses from the ceiling...
as his suggestions scar my brain and I think to myself
thank God it's not August, at least, thank God
I'm not running into
doors. © 2009 Jeanmarie FlahertyFeatured Review
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4 Reviews Added on December 12, 2009 AuthorJeanmarie FlahertyThe Gulf, FLAboutI am reality, I am art, I am every dream I've ever had and the corners of my childrens lips when they smile. I am tears and laughter, I am shoulders and knees, I am a writer, a photographer, a mother... more..Writing
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