Primrose Hill

A poem I wrote for class a while back, it's one of my favorites.

Broken weather stands outside the door

as I pace back and forth through the kitchen.

The grass ripples on the other side

of the little window; an electric breeze

born in the womb of a storm cloud

parts its fingers through the slender blades.

 

I look at the clock, hung crooked

by the fridge, it’s little hand ticking

mercilessly. They will be here soon.

 

There’s nothing I can do.

They will not listen to reason,

I know. They didn’t with Sylvia.

She tried, I know, she tried,

but today her house stands empty,

stripped sterile, almost as neatly

 

as her bones, bleached whiter now

than the grounds of a salt flat

at midday.

 

I won’t go peacefully.

The forty-four weighs heavily in

my hands, my knife sags at my side,

diligent. I pace.

 

The bowl of fruit on the table

shrieks at me, spewing reflected

lightening beams from the

storm.  The clock ticks.     

Reviews

[Wren]

WOW!! Really good! Well done:) beautifully written and very captivating!