Marked by the absence of human life, activity, or comfort

Couch legs and bottom drawers are unfamiliar.
The carpet is beige; smells of stale cigarettes
and soles of shoes. A clock tick ticks, next
to a flowering cactus but there is no accounting for time
except to contemplate how long the burn of bound wrists
can be tolerated. Prickling pink shocks eyes,
and it is easier to examine the twists of beige below.
An unopened Bible sits quietly in the desk drawer.
The electric buzz of the room confirms she is finally alone.

Outside, a car horn honks three times. It is driven
by a woman, auburn hair tied back with ribbon.
Her window is down she is pop popping gum, prattling
about her charming tennis coach and last nights
paltry dinner party. There is no cloth tying her tongue
and unbound hands tap a beat on the crimson car door.
Legs are tan against a white skirt and toes are painted berries.
There is no blood on her thighs, or prying finger bruise.
She has never heard the hum of an empty room

Poetry contest 2009, social network for writers

poetry

Last updated 329 days ago by Erin Hopson