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 nearby. 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