Window art by ribbekeglass
Last year her hair danced wild
like wheat in a storm.
Harnessing love, they tangoed
to Sting’s Fields of Gold, shared smokes.
Tonight her words push him into a corner,
hold him there until his hands grab her hair,
squeeze breath from her throat,
his bone of struggle.
Panic leads him to the cellar
shoveling a tomb.
He pauses at the shallow bowl:
Why bury a broken marriage?
Choked by loss
he wraps his head in plastic
to share her stillness.
Embraced on the bed,
eyes fixed on a silver moon,
rain falls quietly, steadily.
Helga Kidder resides in the hills of Tennessee with her husband. She was awarded an MFA from Vermont College and is co-founder of the Chattanooga Writers Guild. She has three collections of Poetry, Wild Plums, Luckier than the Stars, and Blackberry Winter. These poem are included in her fourth manuscript, Exorcism.
Have poems to share with us? Send em over to [email protected] and do include a short description of yourself and a pretty or handsome image of you!
Tags: Helga KidderWe accept short stories, poems, opinion pieces, and essays on a complimentary basis.