Come To Bed

Originally published in the Bryant Literary Review, Vol 13, 2012

It's a sad day for woman.

She sees dreams,

Like a debtor looks at bills.

No brilliant plans,

No stoic hope that hasn't fallen to the floor,

In clumps of hair.

The occupation that has tattered her feminine countryside,

Raised walls in the name of disease.

 

I'm the only one who will hold her,

And she won't break down in my arms.

 

She lies on the bathroom tile exasperated.

Slid like a spider down,

Down a waterspout from the mouth of the toilet.

I'm in the other room praying,

That she doesn't hear my tears rustling the sheets.

 

Can she just get up and die safely in my arms?

Author's Note

If you would like to use this for your journal, please let me know. If you haveany advice on what you might have done differently, please share