Issue Ten - October 2006


by Colleen Smith Armstrong

    I look for you
    beneath the bed,
    inside my boots,
    nestling in the folds
    of my sheets.
    Dark threads stuck to carpet
    become lost legs
    discarded in the scramble
    across my floor.
    Cobwebs stick to my fingers
    like cotton candy
    and I gasp for breath,
    momentarily overwhelmed
    by the thought of you­
    I trap you with glass cups
    I flush you down the drain.
    And when I watch you flail,
    fight against your murder, your torture, your last breath,
    I hold my hand to my mouth
    and stare.
    I am aghast at my cruelty
    but thrilled to have you gone.
    It's in that moment
    I am ashamed
    for God to see me.

©Colleen Smith Armstrong