Window art by ribbekeglass

Last year her hair danced wild
like wheat in a storm.
Harnessing love, they tangoed
to Sting’s Fields of Gold, shared smokes.

Tonight her words push him into a corner,
hold him there until his hands grab her hair,
squeeze breath from her throat,
his bone of struggle.

Panic leads him to the cellar
shoveling a tomb.
He pauses at the shallow bowl:
Why bury a broken marriage?

Choked by loss
he wraps his head in plastic
to share her stillness.

Embraced on the bed,
eyes fixed on a silver moon,
rain falls quietly, steadily.

Helga Kidder resides in the hills of Tennessee with her husband. She was awarded an MFA from Vermont College and is co-founder of the Chattanooga Writers Guild. She has three collections of Poetry, Wild Plums, Luckier than the Stars, and Blackberry Winter. These poem are included in her fourth manuscript, Exorcism.

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