gone
it’s july, it’s an overcast, grey day.
the sable-haired woman standing, smoking,
at the kitchen sink
has disappeared.
they haven’t pasted up
the missing posters yet:
she’s untied her apron.
there’s low cloud cover.
her husband looks straight through her
as he helps himself to scrambled eggs;
(he thinks she’s cleaning the bathroom,
again).
the children bicker back and forth,
brandishing jam smeared knives
across the breakfast table;
they too, have forgotten she’s there.
icy water drips
into a bowl of milky dregs.
she’s supposed to be washing dishes
but she isn’t and doesn’t care.
the air is cleaning fluid and burnt toast:
a reference point
like the lines on her palms
which read escape.
she exhales,
watching cigarette smoke
drawn by an invisible current
drift through the bars and out the open window …
her thoughts spill like a fallen tarot pack:
she imagines a future soundtrack of
swooping gulls, calls to mosque and
dancing thunderstorms.
without warning,
she has crossed the border.
without warning,
she has peeled away the labels:
housekeeper/nurturer/mother/wife/cook;
she has peeled away all ‘thou shalt nots’;
removed every trace of their sticky residue
and vanished.
she feels no remorse. hollow and light now,
she is a creature of myth:
an enticing stranger in dark glasses
and a long silver raincoat,
a crescent moon birthmark
above elegant lips.
her translucent fingers
push against the metal latch.
movements fluid and sure
cast no shadow on the floor.
it’s july, it’s an overcast, grey day.
there’s low cloud cover.
the air is cleaning fluid and burnt toast:
when the back door creaks open,
the cat slips in from the rain.
November 6th, 2006 at 2:50 pm
…!…
eventually using the courage to put ‘a’ word near these…i love this poem. it is deeply gutfully breath-giving.thank you for pulling the curtain back for us, to such wonder.