Suddenly, everything stops.
An all-consuming silence
Envelops the living room.
The sound of his hand
Slicing through the stagnant air
Is all that remains.
She winces, cowering underneath
The black lacquer coffee table.
Her spirit, cracked like ice; her body,
A crumpled heap of sullen flesh.
His thick, leathery fingers
Slide across his weathered face
Leaving a trail of heartbreaks,
Disappointments, fears.
He stands a broken man.
Her shriveled body
Crawls across the carpet,
Through the broken glass.
In the dark, she brushes
Past his dingy pantleg.
He stares into the shadows.
Gin and sweat permeate the air.
He reaches out and touches her hand.
The crackle of bones
Jars the clock into motion.
* * * * *
Leslie Duran is writer who has published work in the Katmandu Journal, Poetry and Prose, and Gospel Weekly.
This poem is a part of Soul Portrait Magazine’s “30 Days of Poetry” to celebrate National Poetry Month. If you’d like to participate, please submit a poem.
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