by scott from jail
Afghanistan, repeating my daugther's full name
casually, frenetically,
the heat growing in the metallic hulk of stove
Hear me, says the stove,
Hear me,
And then, with a little silence
I turn off the light
and sleep.
The bottle of red wine, untouched,
sours on the counter, marking not good times
but travels spent, remembered, lost to distanting moments
Hear me, hear me, says the stove
And I am awake in some crazy way
delusional, not sad,
whilst the fire pops, her name a buzzing whirr,
Hear me, says the flame,
and I am listening with a closed mouth
while the metal expands
clocking the hot seconds
In straining...
~
Copyright © 2013 - scott from jail
Published: 9/12/13 · Author's Page · Next Poem