Moonlight cracks across her skin
voices bloom like rot within
mother’s ghost a fractured prayer
his shadow claws the burdensome air
Her trembling hands a fragile flame
the gun repeats her secret name
is it for him or could it be
this garden bleeds uncertainty
She walks through walls that start to bend
corridors that never end
her laughter rings then splits in two
one half false and one half true
The ceiling drips with phantom rain
mirrors show her increased pain
every corner births a face
none of them she can erase
She sings a song without a tune
her veins grow rivers black as rune
and every step she takes at night
the floorboards bloom with colored light
The voices climb and fill her chest
commanding her to make it rest
she feels their hunger in her spine
a thousand hands that are not mine
Mother please she tries to say
but syllables dissolve away
what’s left is just a trembling stare
a child who knows no one is there
The weapon thrums a lullaby
a star reflected in her eye
the choice becomes a jagged thread
between the living and the dead
She holds it close as though it sings
a bird with rusted silver wings
and wonders in her final breath
if pulling it will birth her death
or open doors her mind has kept
where grief and shadows both have slept
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
Keep reading
More stories from Tim Carmichael and writers in Poets and other communities.
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts7 days ago in Longevity
Comments (1)
It flows with a steady chilling creep. Well done. 👏🖤