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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN#/ISBN# issue/book “Question Everything” cc&d, v280 (the February 2018 issue) Order this as a 6"x9" paperback book:  |
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I See Her Now
Sarah Webb
I see her now in a dark house
dressing without the light so she won’t disturb him
so she can feel her hands on the jeans
and the soft cotton of the tee shirt
as if she were blind.
I see her bathing in the tub
where she has painted a mermaid with flowing hair.
Her own hair floats around her in shampoo and froth
but she opens her eyes to the sting of soap
afraid he will enter and push her under.
She will not leave.
Every day she looks at the windows
if I had to I could leap through
I must remember to keep my arms over my face
The basement has no exit but the stairs.
He found her there as she loaded the washer.
He put hands to her throat his fingers were light.
there were no marks when he took them down
She wonders if it happened.
At night they press close. I see them lying at ease
breath as soft as air through the summer window.
His hate stirs—she feels it flow toward her
green through the night air
She does not move. Better that he not know I know
She dreams she is dancing with a radioactive man
he is dying green shining
and because she holds him close
soft breathing to the music fallout
she too will die
and still she will not leave.
She sits on the side of the bed
her legs start running they chatter like teeth
He says to her in the emergency room
blood on her face and his face white
We cannot go on like this I will give you a divorce
He stands over her in suit and tie
only his cuff is bloody
Her head hurts when she moves it.
No she says no
I see her in the garden gathering tomatoes
scarlet in the colander and beans green translucent at the edges.
She looks toward the house. She will have to go in soon.
Her mind is full of fog her thoughts dodge in the mist.
He is waiting for his supper I will have to go in soon
Original publication is Switchgrass Review in Corpus Christi
