by Theresa Donnelly
Footprints mark the pile-
the rug cannot lie.
You walk about while
I sleep erratically
across anxious sheets.
The closet doors swing
from their gallows frame.
I laboured long
to cut on the bias
the perfect life.
You left me.
Cold
fingers tap the spinal column.
Admonition from the kettle
as it reached a Sunday boil.
Thigh exposed suggestively
on the cellar stair.
You
fell
from
grace.
Bare concrete snaps bones-
stomps out possibilities.
You are back-
I feel it.
Days are for dreaming.
Nights expose the truth.
Bio
Theresa Donnelly is
an Irish/Canadian poet who spends her time between Waterville, Co. Kerry and
Brooklin, Ontario. Her work has been widley published on both sides of the
Atlantic. She is the author of two poetry books, Moon Witch and Other Scary
Poems and Recurrence of Blue. Growing up in Dublin, the city of
Dracula’s Bram Stoker definitely influenced and fed her appetite for the
macabre www.theresadonnelly.com
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