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Contemporary International Poetry

issue 9904:02
Coral Hull

An open window threw up its pale curtains, indicating a space that I had departed into. He was left in the attic holding the sky in his palms, the sunlight wedge cutting his red jumper in half like a neat apple. He stood by that dirty rage and clicked his jaw like a bear. Never follow a monster into its cave. There is little left of me now. My smile has stretched into blue serenity. Like an old dog's mouth will go long and lean or like a black line, before he digs for a flea inside his ear. A late fall butterfly muttered on the wood of the pane, its oily heart and grey dust lost from its wings. After all he had done to banish me, the tapping willow branch could have been my defeated fingers creeping back in. The situation of the open window couldn't seem to end itself. The best thing was when I made no sense to him anymore.

(©1999 all rights retained by author)
PoetryRepairShop - Contemporary International Poetry ©1999,1998 (9904:02)