Dorm Room Poetry

These Are the Things In the Night

These Are the Things in the Night

The bottle laying

in the carpet, my father’s trembling

hand swatting helplessly.  The gleaming canines

of the open front door and

my mother's leg imprints on the driver's seat. Lights,

a paralyzing rainbow of color, everywhere.

This is the film reel that twines

around my bones in the night.

His hand brushes

my stomach, a flash of

white lace and dark locks,

a wail and a curse. Docile curves,

creamy and delicate, splayed underneath

a black silk tie. A list of a thousand promises,

falling from my empty hand.

These are the novel pages that weigh down on

my chest in the night.

My gaping mouth,

posed to swallow

every drop of saltwater she sheds.

A cup of bleach

I’ll gladly drink for my little spitfire. Curled up,

coated silence.

Never a lady, but soon

a woman, she shares my darkest hour

for a decade. Another winter, a waning smile.

These are the villains I let

kill me in the night.