12-13-2014, 02:04 AM
After a man beats a woman,
he cannot see his own shame
hidden within his closed fist.
When he enters the house,
predetermined, front door
creaking like his own mother’s
faint and past pleading voice,
he listens to their bedsprings’ jangle
and feels compelled to drag
the woman, pulling her before the deep
witness of a mirror where he sees
his father’s face, a pig’s head,
confessing like Thomas what he can’t
believe he's done, not even
after his fingers probe
his own baffling wounds.
he cannot see his own shame
hidden within his closed fist.
When he enters the house,
predetermined, front door
creaking like his own mother’s
faint and past pleading voice,
he listens to their bedsprings’ jangle
and feels compelled to drag
the woman, pulling her before the deep
witness of a mirror where he sees
his father’s face, a pig’s head,
confessing like Thomas what he can’t
believe he's done, not even
after his fingers probe
his own baffling wounds.