a poetry e-zine

 

 

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

Raina Masters
I lie to myself through verse

Today, I will erase the thought of your
leaving from anything I write. In my words,
you are the fire that destroyed me, the
cold floor, the sound of five clocks ticking
in time in total silence. You will not be
a garden reference anymore. You are heat
escaping from the vents, a piece of paper
run through a cross cut shredder, discarded
coffee grounds that tumble into the bottom
of an overstuffed bag. You are all divorced
things in a leaking box with a crushed bow.




In case of implosion

Clear out the baggage from behind
the screen, from in the closet.
Throw out the fraying panties
piled in the wooden chair with
three legs. Kiss everyone goodbye
with arsenic on your lips.
Send post dated letters detailing
your slow and steady demise.
Explore those last, repressed
fetishes bookmarked on your laptop.
Keep a jar of your breath on the dresser,
keep a crowbar on the night stand.




Nothing pink, nothing blue

Fractured pieces flushed out of me,
but I sat only in silence, the hum
of an exhaust fan kept me company.
I wanted to cry.
You sat miles away, eating tacos
in your car, wrappers and napkins
strewn over my seat while you rushed
to finish the last soft shell.
I skipped lunch that day, thought that
failure didn't deserve reward.
You never saw the missing pieces in
the back of my pupils that night,
never invested more than short hugs
and quiet "good nights". Our broken
twist tie relationship reached a nadir.




Everything in its right place

Silence has become the awkward reality
since you tumbled from the dining room
chair and hit your head on the unforgiving
wood of the table's leg. I am left to care
for your cat, who knows I don't like him,
left without your soft humming through
the kitchen and your grilled cheese
sandwiches on a Sunday afternoon, mine
a little burnt. Your hugs are held hostage
in a hospital. The damage of losing people
piles in the corner of the living room.
I have nowhere left to store losses.


Raina Masters has been published online in a few places, and that is pretty cool to her. Her chapbook, Cautionary Tales, is available through Maverick Duck Press, if you like what you see. She likes to read, garden, listen to music and daydream. She has reached level twenty in Pokemon Go, which is impressive only to her.
 

Copyright 2016  Chantarelle's Notebook