Beyond That Old Cracked Door
August 3, 2015
by Petra Hefner
(a dream)
They promised relief
from a needle
just one
small injection
to bring numbness instead of pain
and a restful walk home
down memory lane…
past the burning bridge
and the swelling crick
by the old shack
with its bold crack
in the door
(the one I had closed)
bright sunlight spilling through it
igniting that cold hard bed
(the one I had sold)
with that hot accusation
his smile
so sweet
it slices
half-healed hearts
into bleeding
the simplest wishes
into old regrets
of having tried too hard
yet never enough
apologizing
for no reason
(yet every reason)
feeling odd again
oddly cold
and told
to stop feeling
neglected
words of reason
drowned by tight lips licking
its own damned injuries
smacking this thirsty tongue for wanting
warmth instead of wounds
this time
wet eyes falling
through a small grey cell
finding no-one sitting there
so smug and so stuck in his hell
unable to escape
his own deep wounds
and pains still touching
cold keys with stiff fingers
bent to be right
yet unbending
steel bars
reflecting that old fake smile
promising relief
from a needle
just one
small injection
to end all
numbness
and memories
of this unvarnished dream
where his dark cell smells of fresh paint
but his boozy breath remains
steeped in harshness and regret
his cold stiff fingers still grabbing
for hot love-
making
his touch incapable of soothing
the bruises from that old cold bed
(the one I had sold)
there
beyond that old cracked door
lingers the error
the cupid’s arrow
still aimed
at this pile of life
oddly bent
on waking
this time
without a sequel…
sensing
that it had already died
completely
lonely
only
to begin again.
Petra O. Hefner
