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The Hiss Quarterly Vol. 5 ~ Issue 4 I Am The Walrus koo koo ka-choo |
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 Terry Border |
The Women in My Living Room In a roomful of forget-me-nots, we smile, knowing soon we’ll ignore the other each of us aware we’re crammed together in this broken vase. We assume complex poses, pretend to be clever, hiding secrets and love between long fingers because we’ve mastered the art of being false. . I had friends among them once but they’ve disappeared to unnamed faces; hay in a haystack. I wonder how they’ve learned to lie like that? I bleed each time they say my name with numbed lips and frozen voices. They release words like stale air or a piece of dust on my grandmother’s living room. Somewhere lingers a scent of something sweet− a memory of warm breath; kindness that’s held within their grinding teeth. They slide nails up and down, from endless manicures and self absorbed pampering. Where were they when I died inside, bruised and broken with butterflied bones I whispered help but no-one came except shadowed-heads, noses pushed to ceilings and diamonds dragged to the floor. I’ve not forgotten those forget-me-nots. I remember them well, a small pale blue flower called, scorpion-grass. © Carol Lynn Grellas
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