April 17th

by Lacey Smith

April 17th
by Lacey Smith

Letting the phone line dangle,
it's blurting urgency smeared across the crude plastic,
she felt her weight for the first time.
Pressed to the chair, her thighs were
the curvature of something more than flesh,
more than blood:

In the dim light that poked through the murky wash of window,
she examined her fingers for little holes of purple,
pressed the tips to her lips,
taking slow breaths in search of some sort of absence,
that empty pit

Aching, the trembling became a slow murmur,
a buzz in her ear, the flapping of years
like wings in the space between her hazel eyes.
The crush of tears that blotched her cheek dried slowly,
merging into pink--

Standing now on iron legs, strong rusted shoulders slouched back,
her hair a muddy mess of brown thrown across her face,
pressing onward to the closet,
searching for some kind of blue:
a color meant for hiding

She slips past the concrete walls to pound the puddle covered pavement,
her eyes search no one's, the facade of a smile cracking
the swell of her cheek, arms crossed, bag slug low like an easy burden,
her head barely tipped to one side.


Author's Note: The first poem in some time. It's frustrating, because it still feels like there is something that wants to come out but won't...

Posted on 05/04/2006
Copyright © 2021 Lacey Smith

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