Friday, May 16, 2014

The widow considers her options

Crying has become a reflex now and
I barely notice it
breath like 
heartbeat like 

A drink, perhaps, engaging senses and
stilling thought
numbing this moment like 
morphine like 
oxygen like 
cooling skin.

Masturbation, a possibility, slippery finger and
the convulsive shudder
lonely comfort like 
our bed like 
our home like 
the dawn chorus in the dark

I taste salt
I swallow
I curl in on myself, again 
a seed, a reverse bloom


Consider nothing.

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer
Please do not share without permission
(seven weeks) Creative Commons License

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True Stories, Honest Lies by Laura S. Packer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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