The Moment After
Summary: Poem read at Mott's Open mic night
Date: 08/12/2013
Related: none

IC Date — Location

Mon Mar 17 PM 3014

Fingertips brushing
That should be the sweetest touch,
A lover caress for the first time… timid and electrifying
A child finding comfort in a parent

Not that moment of unknowing- the moment after the bone breaks
The soft rattling exhale of a last breath

It’s not him, too
It’s not my flesh and blood
The blood that now stains my hands and soul
That blood
it’s not his.
It’s a monster’s. Us? Not us? I don’t care.
It’s not his.

But our finger tips brush, and that’s all the contact-
All that reassurance
And it’s not enough
I scream, every night
Because it wasn’t enough
The images pour out of my brain
New, brighter now. Like this curse wasn’t enough-
This gift.
Now, the dreams are all touches. Like I’m suffocating
Fingertips and ice shards
Piercing my soul to the same degree.
Touching me

I still don’t know
If he’s ok, our fingers having never connected again
I feel like I’m still there unable to move,
But feeling everything. The wind, the straps, the stretcher
The blood drying on my skin
His blood.

Not the monster’s…Not only the monster’s.
They dry at the same rate.
And I feel it. Touching me
and never coming off.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License