[the Writing of Kuypers]
The satin sheets were stained with blood.
The tears burned into her skin.
The memories flooded my mind.
[JanetKuypers.com][Bio][Poems][Prose]
over my skin with such ease
Her face brushed up against the pillow.
The satin cut into her face as she tried to relax,
to stifle the tears. He walked out of the room.
“I always loved spring,” she said as she
leaned over toward the flower bed. There was no smell.
“I have to tell you something,” he said.
She didn’t listen to him. She touched
the daffodil to bring it closer to her.
The stem sliced her palm. The deep red blood
thickened as it trickled down her wrist.
She looked up. He was gone.
The acid left behind a trail of scars
whenever it traced her jaw line.
Every day, every hour, every minute,
every second, every moment.
The alcohol didn’t help anymore.
I turned toward the kitchen, went to
the far right drawer, shuffled
through the forks, soup spoons,
butter knives... I found a knife
with a sharp enough edge, not to
kill, but only to hurt. I put
the knife to my wrist. I wanted
to take the memories out of me,
any way I could. I took the tip
of the blade and ran it along
the inside of my wrist. As the
blood began to trickle from the
cut, I put the knife down and
ran my fingers along the cut.
The blood, like silk, glided
over my skin with such ease.
Copyright Janet Kuypers.
All rights reserved. No material
may be reprinted without express permission.
|
