Chiasmata Poem by Lucas Akkadian

My hand falls to the covers; releasing my
cell phone as it chimes a busy signal.
With new reserve she slips away
and back into her shell,
as soft light swells from down
the stairs, to hover on the walls.

'It happened years ago' she groans,
'but that's not what I meant'.
I sway and give a tired glance
to defuse her right to escalate.

Twilight’s ocher rays creep through
a dusty window pane
to cast their defiant shadows.

'We're almost out you know.'-
she explains with a sigh, and slips a
black hoody over her breasts.

'Well maybe it's not a stipulation'
I offer with an unassuming gaze.
'You know what? ' her voice raises,
'You try to analyze every damn thing:
when will you learn to just...'.
'I have other mysteries' I start.
'well, I don't suppose any of them
were chronicled on the pages you
ripped out right before my eyes'.

She fumes in silence, giving me the floor.

'What about you: what have you really shown me, but
a box of Hallmarks and little porcelain figures? '

From the phone, the operator's
prerecorded error message interjects.
I pick it up to hit end, as the sound of
her heels trails off over hard wood.
The front door slams, and the operator
lingers in silence.