Liberator Poem by Val Morehouse

Like a lover he enters my life,
carrying his dark purpose into the bedroom.
Each thing opens to him like a map.

Here, today's headlines screaming of home invasion
lie blanketed on that chair
where yesterday's clothing is crucified.

There, empty shoes gathering blackness.
Keeping silent on the nightstand, that traitor the
alarm clock winks its digital eye.

He fans out the credit cards like
flirtatious birds eager to fly on plastic wings.
Closeted, the jackets and dresses line up,

Emaciated prisoners praying for liberation.
He pats them down, coaxing each free of secrets,
even as he stares at my face

Framed like a wanted poster on the mantle.
From these wrists, invisible as ghosts in this light,
he lifts my dead grandmother's bracelet.

My rings divorce my fingers.
Around my neck mother's pearls slide away.
All will follow, shrouded in pillowcases

Ripped from the bed's once safe haven;
and I will come in on his indelible shadow,
one fingerprint left in the black dust of fear,

Knowing I cannot break into the blank
innocence of sleep again,
until I have washed every sheet.