AS THEY FOUND HER...

it was every morning...
just like every other morning
or so it seemed

but it wasn’t

the parents unaware
downstairs
in the kitchen
clinking coffee spoons circling in glass
hot coffee
the smell of bacon
muffled conversation floating through the house

it was every morning
but it wasn’t

then
the howling

the almost sad wailing
sneaking over the morning sounds
unthreatening
encroaching
slowly piercing their awareness
chilling
they don’t know why
but it chills them

this was new
it had not happened before
and it marked something new
something different
something unwanted and unwelcome
and they knew it

yelling up the stairs
no reply

just the howling

and the faint sound of scratching
the eerie tattletale scratching
whispering its sad little secret

and they knew

for the first time
they knew

it wasn’t every morning

not knowing how they knew
but they knew

and with a dignified
yet hastened pace
he went first
ascending stairs

she lingered slowly behind
like a thick smoke from a pipe
curling around him
“what is it? what’s wrong?”

he offers no reply
focused on his destination
turning the corner
floating down the narrow hall
to her door

knocking softly
calling her name

but only the howling
only the scratching
only a soft canine whimper

climbing the two steps to her room
turning the knob
pushing the door           
greeted by the chaotic shepherd

and nothing else

she was sleeping
so he thought
just for a fraction of a second
he allowed himself the luxury of that hopeful thought
just for a second
before he was battered
bloodied
brutalized

she was not sleeping...

the terrier never leaving her side
as she lay
still
pale-green
cold
eyes open
seeing nothing

the terrier never left her side

he was so stoic
his whole life
dignified
proper
patrician
always in control
but no longer
dropping to his knees
shouting
shouting
shouting
her name
his disbelief
o god
what has his good little girl done?

shouting
howling
and the curl of smoke
still in the hallway asking
“what is it? what’s the matter?”

the curl of smoke finally entering
seeing
rushing to the bed
“she’s only sleeping
my baby’s only sleeping!”
grabbing her in a desperate cradle of her arms
“my baby! my baby!”

the terrier never leaving her side

the mother clutching imploringly
the father broken
the shepherd howling
the terrier dutifully keeping vigil...

retaining her beauty
even in death
vacant
vacuum eyes
still so beautiful
she was still so damned beautiful
as she lay
limp
cold
not sleeping...

a bottle of pills
a half empty bottle of vodka
and a single word
writ large on her bedroom wall
with a black marker
no note
no rationale
just one word
“alone”

later that day
we sit in a circle in the living room
silenced
stunned
purulent

asking
always asking
“why?”
“how?”

The mother sobbing
“my baby, my baby”

the father
a crack running through his patrician exterior
he just groans
almost inaudible
almost imperceptible
and perhaps it was imperceptible to others
but we hear it--those of us who know him hear it
and we shudder at its sound

and for the first time I realize
that this is something I will never get over
there is no moving on
there is just simple endurance
from now on
life isn’t lived
it is endured

and on a relentlessly cold february morning
we will bury pieces of ourselves along with her...

Reviews

[Jocelin]

I like it but i don't completely love it it needs a little something to add to it but otherwise a great poem.

[Emily B]

what to say? at first it was such a brilliantly thrilling and terrifying story that I followed the words quickly, greedily

something about it seems deeper more personal, I never speculate concerning the possibility that work is fiction or taken from our lives, we are poets, almost everything is a mixture of both

in my most foolish and motherly way, I might remind a poet to live life again--there are too many lessons to learn to simply endure it

[Deaths Cold Kiss]

this is really sad, but a very good write, very descriptive