I dream of stitches
and fish
that swarm in my
cold womb,
china chipped by your eyes
and black crystal
glassware
resonating
at the sound of my seams ripping.

Once we were wed
in a hotelroom with a symphony...
violin orchestra on the bed.

I could touch your body
anytime
I could find the time....

I've taken up sewing,
but not with you....my needle
my thread
my lace coverlet
my loom and my tapestry
waiting for embroidery
waiting for you.

My baby is turned to liquid,
but you say you dont care
you say she's in heaven
or
waiting underneath the ocean
in a conch
far beneath the rolling waves...

I dont see you....

I see iridescent fish that
move and crawl
and bite
turn their jaws on my skin
like the teeth of insects
inside me.
I turn seamside in.

I've begun to applique
and quilt children into the mattress
of our weddingbed.
I cover stains with satin squares
trying to hide the signs of
passion.

You gave me silverware
for our anniversary....
I eat the imagery.
In my dreams.
In my nightmares.

Your gift is useless.

You say there are no
reasons to feel this way.
I mourn the disuse of the forks and knives...
though you say they feel nothing
I feel something
for them
and nothing for you.

02/10/2003

Posted on 02/11/2003
Copyright © 2026 Vikki Owens