05-26-2014, 08:32 AM
She hears him lift another can,
pour the beer into a tall glass
as sure as her key slips into a lock.
She dislikes this plastic paradise
of comb and mirror, the thickening
scars, the courted sleep.
Arguments are all her mind recalls lately:
the fists, the remedy afterward. She does
remember an August marriage, his dark
good looks. And now sitting beside this bed
of snow, the room is a jail cell. Outside
her window, on a thin black telephone wire,
is a mourning dove with her mother's eyes.
pour the beer into a tall glass
as sure as her key slips into a lock.
She dislikes this plastic paradise
of comb and mirror, the thickening
scars, the courted sleep.
Arguments are all her mind recalls lately:
the fists, the remedy afterward. She does
remember an August marriage, his dark
good looks. And now sitting beside this bed
of snow, the room is a jail cell. Outside
her window, on a thin black telephone wire,
is a mourning dove with her mother's eyes.