The Night

ends in layers
on her kitchen floor;
jackets, boots and kitten heels
form conclusions on stained tile.

I wasn't in her
apartment five minutes
before the phone rang; low talk
in another room that meant nothing.

Later, in bed, she explained
the call as a boyfriend, suspicious;
we both pretended that it might matter.
She was the first woman

to acknowledge the scars
laddered from my shoulder to my hip;
she walked her fingers down the raised
rungs without asking why.

On the bedside stand,
familar icons: Schnapps, seconal,
lamp with a pink ruffled shade.
Somewhere in the room, a cat growled

its disapproval. After, she slept-
on her side, a locked blade.
I sat on the edge, tried but couldn't
remember her name. The cat appeared,

wound between my feet,
its censure forgotten. I stroked its fur,
felt flesh shiver over bone.
"Your'e a good cat," I said. "A good cat."


thepoetryman said...

I shudder... Wow.

Anne said...

Very nice. Thank you.

Lyrically speaking said...

Captivating piece, love the picture. Have a great weekend.

666poetry-finchnot said...

hi bella

love this un love poem

write me some time

i do hope you are doing well


JaneDoughnut said...

I can't decide if I like the poem or illustration more, but you're amazing as always.

atomicvelvetsigh said...

witty lines and a whole lovely piece all in all.. 8)

Rob Kistner said...


Rob Kistner said...

I enjoyed your work, especially "Yardbird". Good 'writer's voice'. Stop by my site sometime and check out my writing and art.

Rob Kistner said...

WOW! Provocative images on your site. Are any or all of these your work? I did not follow their links but it seems I've seen some before?

Anne said...

You've been quiet lately, my dear. Is everything o.k.?

Cynthia said...

I found this poem heartbreaking,
and at the same time a slow relief
spread through me.