Pepper Poem by Charles Malcolm
Pepper
He hung up
and she became
a circular saw in a silk nightgown.
Dust floated from the ceiling
like Japanese snowflakes
beneath the weight
of her heels,
knees,
fists,
and soul.
Nobody cares how she feels.
That she exists.
She shrieks about
her throat,
chest,
wrists,
and soul.
Maybe she should
do it
but she won't
do it
over me.
Not tonight.
Monday, April 6, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: love and loss,suicide
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4/16/2024 5:55:43 PM # 1.0.0.1119
