by Len Kuntz
Old woman wears a wedding dress,
her hands white wilted carrots.
Watch her eyes.
See how wet they are.
Do they widen at the sound of your entrance?
Is there a way to reclaim that space
before time and years
took her to the back alley
with brass knuckles and baseball bats,
reworking her memory
and trading it for
the price of someone’s smoked cigarettes?
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The horror expressed in this, and the emptiness and brutality, reverberates and I can smell that back alley and hear the thwack.
ReplyDeleteBut I can't work out how you made me see it so vividly - well done.