of love and suspicion

she pulled paper off of elm bark and cut out

characters with dull scissors,

 

pressed them into old scrapbooks with white

paste and the corner of a smile

 

she took pieces of a puzzle out of a cardboard

cupboard where paint chipped

 

and cracked dishes held onto forgotten suppers;

 

had a hound dog that could smell a funeral

a mile away,

 

scent came up through porch boards and wet

sawdust

 

black ants come crawling out of woodwork

looking for leftovers

 

scraped into trash cans with dirty newspapers;

 

jealous boyfriend next door every time she

sat on rope and board to swing,

 

wearing her low cut red dress and wiping off

humid air with

 

a soft, wet, damp sponge,

 

young men cruis’n by in white walls, d.a.’s

and wolf calls

 

she eats it up with a silver spoon and glued

on lashes;

 

walks into the house moving like her hips

are on springs,

 

she’s running on full oxygen,

he, just trying to breathe

 

opens up an appliance for cold milk

and satisfaction,

 

a shot fired

 

travels through white in a glass,

travels through

 

a life,

bone

 

she clocks out like 24 chapters in an

unfinished book,

 

her body, flying puzzle pieces that

scatter into blue darkness

 

he tucks death into his pocket, opens

cautiously a

 

screen door where police lights pry

into furniture and

 

eyes in grandparent faces hiding behind

glass walls

 

‘rounds exchanged,

the boyfriend keels

 

over,

 

hits porch boards like slow nails and

a hot sun

 

had a hound dog that could smell a

funeral a mile away …

 

Copyright © 06/09/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

Image

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2 comments on “of love and suspicion

  1. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous; and packed so full of imagery and meaning that unpacking it would take an essay. In other words, the very best sort of poem–one that holds up to dozens of rereadings.

    I especially love that the phrase
    ‘she’s running on full oxygen,
    he, just trying to breathe’
    is the literal *and* narrative heart of the poem (25 lines before; 24 after; the perfect encapsulation of the sense behind the shattering).

    Favorite phrases:
    – ‘white paste and the corner of a smile’
    – ‘moving like her hips are on springs’
    – ‘like slow nails and a hot sun’
    (…I actually made a much longer list, which read like a disjointed tumble of fully half the poem.)

    Astonishing craftsmanship; a beautifully-wrought piece of work.
    -MMarzio

  2. Madeleine,

    ‘i feel each stroke of ink, your pen, into threads of parchment, veining though with oxygen for my soul’.

    My deepest appreciation for your quite remarkable review of my work!!

    xo,

    Lance

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