June 92
In the dimness of night, never still, with honking of horns far distant, trains rolling on their fixed paths, muted music beating bass through the walls, I cry your name. Broken silence, sounds in the distance, all pull me deeper into my solitude, slicing through my faith like a razor -- determined to draw the blood of lonliness from my pale wrists. Where are you? To what far-from-me chores do you apply yourself so willingly and whole-heartedly, while I yearn for that same devotion that you lavish on inanimate duties that keep you there, there, and not by my side, in my bed? I have no mouth, and I must scream. Were I to yell, beat my breast in frustration, slash the air with my anger (that you are not touching, caressing, kissing me), would you hear me? In the dimness of night, muted sounds echoing off buildings, mocking the absence of a lover's sweet whispers, I cry your name -- unheard.
© 1997, 1998 Tara Tambollio
Back to Scraps.