By Melanie Heard, copyright 2020
May not be used for any purpose without express written permission from the author
My exhausted heart pounds
Ricochets
Like steady gunshots
Thumping against the back
of a dusty velvet
Seat cushion.
Vines assume ownership
Twisted souls
Clawing at the walls and
Sprawled across the
Marble steps
Lazy, fierce, angry
Tired.
They upstage everything.
And snicker at their own
Inevitability.
In the corner, a child is crying
She turns
Mascara tarnishes her
Porcelain face
She sucks in her lower lip
And breathes out
A sigh of pain
Exasperation
Forced acceptance
Her tiny wrists, wrapped in bandages
Tied together and bruised
From trying to break free.
Stay there.
It's for your own good.
The piano yearns to cheer her.
But his keys have long
Since shattered into shards.
The dust of dreams.
The splinters of silence
This war-torn domain
He remembers satin dresses
Clicking high heels
Ruby lips
The struggle to turn the pages
And a siren song of…
A hollow wail of
Bluesy jazz and showtunes
Now, he just creaks
And weeps
With the child.
I cannot breathe.
I cannot endure any more
Sorrow
So
I turn
And
Trip
Yet fall upward.
Up, up, up.
Until my hot cheek
Is pressed against
the ceiling.
My hands against the
Feathered paint
The fractured memory
Of happier times
When people
bothered to notice the sky.