A Dismal Completion
Follow the thread as it peels
back to rawness
as it peels away the repetition
my scars not visible
when the prejudiced flesh
battles the apathy
of its own nature
* * * * * * *
the thread is a knotted line
bulked and swollen
as taut as nerve on a cold
white day thickening
against the fear of daybreak
* * * * * * *
the cord that binds is cold
and wet is a tongue that seeks
a crevice is the agony of urgency
is the weight of expectation
is the closing of a door
and the sudden rush of water
* * * * * * *
I am chained and locked
I am loaded against
the dismal completion.
Everything Ends as Dirt
There is dirt on the steps
(always there is dirt
on the steps)
but from where
does it constantly appear?
the bedroom is ice
(the bedroom walls
are ice blue)
I stumble on the stairs
without falling
* * * * * * *
yesterday I fell
my bloodstains seeped through
my bandaged hands
my scraped and bloody knees
laying on the ground
immobile
trapped inside my decades
needing help
that was never needed before
* * * * * * *
the dirt will spread
it will overwhelm me
I remember the dirty dishes
stowed away
inside my father’s cupboard
as his body devoured him
from the inside
we sat together
drinking rum
we ignored the past
it was better that way.
Paul Ilechko is the author of the chapbooks “Bartok in Winter” (Flutter Press) and “Graph of Life” (Finishing Line Press). His work has appeared in a variety of journals, including Juxtaprose, As It Ought To Be, Cathexis Northwest Press, Inklette and Pithead Chapel. He lives with his partner in Lambertville, NJ.
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