stephaniealexis8[at]hotmail.com
"Don't trust it when they call you beautiful," she once warned me
in a space she thought was safe.
"That's a word reserved for goddesses
like Aphrodite or Venus,
and if they took Her Head
and ripped Her arms off
and burned down Her temples,
what do you think they'd do to you?"
She took another sip of her drink.
"And be careful of those ass-grabs and back massages,"
she cautioned in the most wary of tones.
"The law of nature dictates one thing leads to another.
That's how emergency rooms get filled, you know?"
I didn't, as my smirk must have said.
She leveled at me eyes far too wise
to ever be innocent again.
"Listen - kisses are nothing but near misses
and near misses are really near hits.
Don't let them ever tell you those don't scar.
Shit, I'm surprised I can feel anything anymore."
She laughed sadly,
like an autumn wind
blowing dead leaves about on a cold November day.
Just like today.
And as I walk away from her grave
I think
"Don't trust beautiful,"
would have made the perfect epitaph
She sits very still at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, thinking how much she hates summer storms.
On the wall the clock lets another minute fall to the floor.
It’s always like this, ‘the silence before’,
the vacuum that fills every room, sucking the breath from your lungs.
Then the air starts to pick up, blow things around, shout out her name.
She’ll try to plead with it, reason with it. You’d think she’d know better by now.
You can’t talk over something that needs to hear itself bellow.
Then the lightning strikes, a hot crack across the mouth that stings her down to the soul.
Thunder explodes in her skull.
Now watch the hard rain fall. Not the cooling showers of spring that coaxes pretty things to grow, oh no –
this kind of downpour goes on and on until there’s nothing left to do but sink and drown.
The clock lets another moment go.
She watches it fly off like frightened bird, wishing she could follow.
God, she hates summer storms.
She carries heavy secrets
Like large black stones sitting at the bottom of still waters
Dropped there by someone else
in a fit of anger.
Left behind
by denial and indifference.
No one else saw them get dropped
with a hollow plopping sound,
or counted all the bubbles boiling back up in the dark
as they sank to the bottom of her heart.
Now she hauls then around, these soggy burdens weighing her down.
Crushing her needs until they scream and bleed.
Oh, such an effort to carry another's pain and shame!
Oh, to tell another soul, to just let god/dess and let go
But she feels obligated to haul it along.
After all, hasn't this been her job all along?
So she dries her eyes and presses the wrinkles out of her skin,
Smoothes out her surface until it reflects perfect sunshine
Hiding all the sad shadows within.
If you have enjoyed Stephanie Alexis Bonvissuto's Poetry, then please be certain to e-mail her at stephaniealexis8[at]hotmail.com and thank her for posting her Work.
Click here for a list of all of Stephanie Alexis Bonvissuto's Stories and Poetry at Sapphic Voices Authoresses.
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