Closure

The assumption is
that wells are good to drink from,
that they puncture a clean vein,
but you do not want to sup
the oily waters of mine.

That black tea
is steeped in misery,
my fingers and toes
still wrinkled from its bathe
after crafting my escape
with the hair and bones
of a murdered child.

I know it’s cold down there
but you’ll get used to it;
I did.
Became too numb to feel the rats
gnawing at my body
till it was full of holes,
played like a flute.

Scream all you want;
this well is mighty deep
and runs to my core,
but you already know that.
You watched as I dug into my soil
smiled as I fell from your hands
laughed at my inability to climb out.
Walls that housed me now imprison
your wailing wind;
a lullaby for my ears.

It’s not that I don’t forgive you
nor am I concerned with your redemption.
You shouldn’t have to pluck
your eye to know why you’re here.

I just want you to see my face
eclipse the daylight,
gift you the crescent moon
of my closure,
as I throw down pennies.

And slowly, I’ll fill this void
pour annulling sands down your throat
until the thick silence of your ending
is enough to bed my flowers,
the glorious scent of which
will follow me all my days.

©Copyright Maggie Lawson 2018

33 thoughts on “Closure

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  1. Powerful in its rendering. A knife to the heart. The fourth stanza expresses so well my soul’s “wrinkled” ties with my ex-husband who abandoned me and our two sons in Brazil. But I have no desire to “pour annulling sands down [his] throat.” He’s already done that to himself.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Maggie, your poems are true works of art; every word perfectly placed and never too few or too many. You are a true master of language. This poem entices, and at the same time, repels. Your crafting is so lush, with so much motion and pull. I am in awe of you, truly!

    Liked by 3 people

  3. Exquisitely written poem, Maggie. I coudln’t agree more with Susan’s words: ” This poem entices, and at the same time, repels.” This is magnificent as it shows you are great at describing horror and writing it so beautifully at the same time. Sylvia Plath did exactly that.

    Liked by 1 person

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