One Bottle – Six Glasses.
This row seems more serious – we have decided not to forgive.
I’m down here with the expensive bottle I was saving
for Christmas. You’re upstairs, in bed, restlessly asleep, a frown
in your dreams. I pull the cork and pour myself a full glass,
red as an open heart. Those things we said, we meant – when hurt
we strike out like snarling strangers then crumble into remorse.
It’s commonplace. This time – another glass of wine – we didn’t
make things right, bumped away from each other, bruised, sad,
your eyes rejecting mine like an awkward stranger. A refill. My pain
rearranges itself into rage. I scavenge your selfish bones, pick your
arguments bare. Guilt settles on me like a bad debt. Reach for the
bottle, fill up the glass. There’s a chasm between us, the rift grows wider
by the hour…
View original post 116 more words
Claire Walker’s poetry has been published in magazines, anthologies and webzines including The Interpreter’s House, Prole, Ink Sweat and Tears, The Poetry Shed, and The Chronicles of Eve. She is a Reader for Three Drops Press, and Co-Editor of Atrium poetry webzine. Her first pamphlet – The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile – was published by V. Press in 2015, and a second – Somewhere Between Rose and Black – will follow in December 2017.
journalread 