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  • Writer's pictureChelsea Brotherton

Charades

Updated: May 2, 2019

I thought your voice would wear out

From the rough growling of resentment

As my tears ran raw through the night.

I sought shelter behind a locked door

And under sheets scented with sweetness

Of you-

Just this morning I laid in this same well,

Wondered at the twitching of your upper lip,

The exact number of your eyelashes amid snores.

You were calm in your young skin as you woke lazily,

Twirled a finger through my curl, smiled sweetly.

I placed a kiss on your brow, hopping up

For the routine of coffee and kitchen dancing.

-a memory forgotten in the moment

For the booming of your fists shaking the frame

Of my bones, the frame of particle board

cracking

With the image of my lover bursting

In with doorknobs flying and splinters

Of you stuck under my skin, festering.


I recoiled, searching for my mother in pillows

But they did not save me.

And you’ll say you never hit me, but the threat

Of the masculine charading as sanctuary

Lit in me only: run.


The smell of tequila hot breath still makes me flinch.


And yet I am the wrongdoer for seeking shelter

In the words of another

who never touched me- the same moral pillar

On which you’ll hold yourself

To justify my damnation to any open ears.


Your mouth has always been open

But my eyes finally are

As I watch the door of the home you crumbled

Close one last blessed time.

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