Each evening I begin unwinding myself,
searching out the teasing thread
that will lead to the knots
wrangled tighter each day.
As if I am a set of headphones
snaring pocket lint in my tangled nets
until I’ve frayed too far,
and simply snap.
Stung between garden fences
twilight coaxed you outside,
to the square of wilding lawn
uncut from summer’s end,
the coils of wood smoke
streaked with petrol
rising above an evening glow
of light behind closed panes
as one by one they too
flickered out.
Image by Giani Pralea from Pixabay
Flesh parts so easily
when pressure
is applied.
Tongues often prove
more effective
than crowbars.
They break past
words like ‘No’.
Was I a plaster
you slapped on
to cover the burns
left by your family?
Something temporary,
to hide the harm.
Was he water?
More than you’d seen
all in one place
and so inviting
you were willing
to drown.
Did you lose me
on purpose?
Or did the currents
just pull us apart?
Either way,
did you notice
that I was gone?
My mother taped mittens to my wrists,
that made my hands sweat
into wet worms without purchase.
She told me that you were dangerous
but by then I was older,
knew how to sink my claws in,
and to give in to the itch.
Carol J Forrester 
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