His Name – A Poem

 

His Name

There, underneath the dining room table,
she calls out his name,
silently so no one can hear
the sound of her voice
delicate and breaking
soft and fragrant like the petals
on the peonies she grows.

Within her breast she feels him
and she dances and twists within herself
a ghost of hot breath
on her vacant skin.

The rug scratches her arms
her legs bend and she kicks the table
knocking the empty plate
and glass
to the ground
to the brown carpet full of regret
and memories,
tears
disappearing in the woven fabric.

Honesty is the companion of selfishness
a championed virtue
brightly dressed in regal gown
and beneath
a hollow soul
dark and consuming
and she in mournful absolution
makes conscious her disdain
when, in breaths no more forceful
than a child’s leap
through a sprinkler
watering the naked garden,
she calls out
his name.