SUBSCRIBEQUARANTINE by J. Michael
posted July 8, 2008 under Poetry
Tags: J Michael, poem
She knows the taste of nails,
a clutch of them in her mouth
like a dressmaker’s pins.
The flavor of iron is comforting,
something she can wield.
Something that will not decay.
She knows the weight
of a hammer, its friendly lever
the extension of her own bones,
its metal face, her fist.
She has plans for this.
She knows every centimeter
of the house, could walk it blindfolded
in the 3 a.m. dark and rearrange
the delicate teacups
on their petal-thin saucers.
Each whining floorboard, each notch
in each door. She knows the number
of cans stacked in silver towers,
each match and bullet.
She hides her life like a secret,
rolls it in her palms.
The burnt crevice that was the stoop,
the boards pounded in layers
as thick as a scab, the bolts and braces.
Her heartbeat is her treasure.
She knows each thud.
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Ooohh, I love this one:D
Comment by Flytch — July 9, 2008 @ 9:02 am
I’m not a fan of poetry, but this one was nice. When will there be more long stories?
Comment by Nina — July 11, 2008 @ 10:03 am
Not a fan of poetry Nina? Then you obviously havnt read anything by Charles Bukowski…he’ll make you a fan real quick,promise.
Comment by SMEAR — July 21, 2008 @ 4:05 pm
Nails “like a dressmaker’s pins,” “petal-thin saucers,” boards “thick as a scab” — some very vivid and effective imagery here. Nice.
Comment by Renee — July 22, 2008 @ 7:33 pm
That was truely awesome!
Comment by Zoe — August 31, 2008 @ 12:07 pm
that was a poem? but it didnt even rhyme
Comment by damien — October 4, 2008 @ 6:53 pm