O c t o b e r   2 0 0 1

Guest Writer

each floor
by Gretta Descamp

Even now
and suddenly
I hear her voice again
angry like a zipper
in each clinking glass
and scraping spoon
that voice I dreamed once
a woman who hid her hatred
under the sugar of such sweet words
sharp shards of glass
cloth whispers
my skin shivers
and I look round to catch her
but the room is empty.

Or upstairs
hovering at the horizon
between carpeting and wall
fingers, fists and feet
flying and me crying
with laughter
and an almost nonsensical fear
would I really die
if I let down my defenses?

And up again
to tangled sheets
I woke this morning
body tense and sure
a bomb had fallen
my veins singing
I listened, panting breath
for sirens screaming towards me
but the shuddering of buildings
beds and bodies
came instead from thunder
growling at the morning
not ready to let go of night.

See more from Gretta in our archives.

site design / management / host: ae
© 2001-2005 nwdrizzle.com / all rights reserved.