Rhonda Maness was educated and lives in Alabama. She was recently published in River Poets Journal and Subliminal Interiors.
The Risk of Drowning
You ushered me from the polite door
like I was a beggar pleading for more rags.
Your words had chisled at me as you
tried to carve me into an art
that made you exist.
But, I was a stone that would not obey.
Leaving, you tossed me a brick
as if to say, “rebuild”.
I could not.
The clocks are set
and time stammers though the air
like lush, white tipped waves
that will crowd us until we drown.
You stand before me,
eyes like marbles,
smile fixed like a painted doll.
Words dangle between us
like numb puppets;
we each hold a cross,
the impetus for the stringed limbs,
but neither moves,
not a tremble, twitch or tap.
It is now a science,
the anatomy of what is,
the dissection of what was.