Poetry

  Frigidity doesn't describe the gray dullness either externally or internally, struck frozen behind my dismal eyes. Black soot and garbage are the drifts that blanket what was once pristine, now frozen and ugly. All that is frozen much like my mood complete with icicles otherwise not knowing where else to go. I give up a dry laugh imagining icicles, hanging on the end of my nose. Too frozen to talk and yet I laugh. I get the irony. -Laurie Perrone copyright 2024

  As sure as there is a Harvest moon, sure as shit, I wasn't immune to your violent heart. I hardened my heart until it was brittle, as the trees are in Autumn; you crunching the leaves under foot as you walked all over me. I pretended to know that God will save you someday. After forgiving you for all your heinous acts on me, I knelt down and prayed. I had to remove myself from you for all the bruises on my neck when you tried to choke me; or those cuts and scrapes from one of my alleged "falls." Even after that, I struggled with my love for you. So stupid was I. When you finally succumbed to your cardiac arrest, it was then I knew my evil god had finally fallen. I have not pretended to know how I leapt with joy over your death. It was then that I pretended to know God had taken you home. -Laurie Perrone copyright 2024