Chilly Evening

chilly evening the part he never got right

Prune Juice

Spring 2017

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Her Whispering

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Her whispering,
meant to poison,  

will find a way to be heard,
with her infinite capacity to distort
the precise moment of my weakness,
pounding it with her fists full of words
and innuendos
 into an altogether new creation
emitting a pulse of lies
with a sly rhythm I cannot bear
to witness again.

The invisible reality
 is buried in the woods
some distance from her childhood home
and I must kneel in the soft loam
 digging with my bare hands
until I hit the hard
edges of my own truth.

****

©2013 Wabi Sabi

For Sunday Whirl # 133

For Poets United ‘poetry pantry’