Category: Creative Writing

Tonight, I’ll level this house.
But now, to save myself, here’s a hemlock
created to keep me sane:
Valium soaked in tequila is washed away
with an Alka-Seltzer chaser.

I sit alone in a red room
Waiting for your punch line.
Your joke is not funny
And I sip the cocktail
Designed to fill me with venom.

You cleared your throat last night
In your sleep you rolled over,
Embraced your pillow.  Morning came
And you said you loved me,
Pretending I didn’t feel you
Touching her as you touched me.

Today I asked about the girl in your pillow.
You shrugged and looked the other way.
You tried not to smile as
Icicles grew around your teeth.

I take another poison swallow.
It shudders through me like primed gunpowder
And I wait to explode.

Autumn words mean September sighs
And December saying, “Sorry,”
As snow begins to cover any bare essence still blooming.
You’re trying too hard
To brush  flakes off the dying stems of roses
That pricked us when we admired them.

In springtime we planted this vine
To symbolize our love
(And to cut down on the florist’s bill).
You said to be tender with the vine;
Touch, caress the leaves but not the petals.
And when you weeded around its roots
It stabbed you
Held you
Until I could pry you loose.

Then in summer
I helped you nourish it
Because we feared drought
And we had to protect the symbol
Of our irony.

We became proud of an achievement
That should have come naturally,
And the exhibition of our vine became vital,
Just to confirm our suspicions that
Vines like ours are made, not born –
Then, of course, the petals began to fall away
One by one
Until nothing was left
But several brown extensions
Where you will finally allow
The snow to gather.