The slap of leather against flesh;
a pronouncement,
a judgment.
We breathe hard through our tears,
the layers of malice stripped away
by the black hand of grief.
I walk away
for the next five years,
never able to look you in the eye
without hearing
the hollow sound of your anger
reverberate in my memory.
a pronouncement,
a judgment.
We breathe hard through our tears,
the layers of malice stripped away
by the black hand of grief.
I walk away
for the next five years,
never able to look you in the eye
without hearing
the hollow sound of your anger
reverberate in my memory.
Marie Lecrivain
copyright 2011 marie lecrivain
No comments:
Post a Comment