Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Bridget wants to burn bridges
Between her and Browstun. Her
Mother told her years before his
Eyes were too close together to
Make a decent man. Her mother’s
Words still linger; the echoes of them
Hang in the air. She sits on the rooftop
Of the apartment block smoking and
Looking over the horizon. It’s a warm
Day; she enjoys the cigarette, the feel
Of warmth of sun on skin. She wonders
If Browstun will find her again. Last
Time it took him five months to find
And beat her black and blue and crack
Her jaw with the hard toe of his shoe.
She hopes he still thinks she’s in New
York somewhere and pictures him
Searching old haunts, apartment blocks,
Cafes and bars they’d once frequented
Often to the early hours. She wants to
Unstick the kisses of his lips, peel off
The memory of his embraces, wipe
Clean the words of taunt and threat,
Unfeel the bruises that taint her flesh.
This city is her refuge; she is an exile;
She seeks to exorcize Browstun from
Her life and memory, but he sticks like
A bad scar, always there despite ablutions
Of tears and frequent scrubbings of skin.
Yes, she supposes his dark eyes were
Too close together. The kind of eyes that
Pierced like a lance with each glance.
She could tell his every mood by the
Eyes’ stare and coldness lingering there.
She looks down at the sidewalk; listens
Out for the door chime or knock on wood
By heavy his heavy fist out of habit; old
Habits die hard, they make tracks through
The mind forming scars. She wants to burn
Down all bridges with Browstun, she wants
To be an island away from his invasive touch
And feel and his often-repeated threat to kill.
She can sense the cold hard bricks on her ass.
You’ll get haemorrhoids sitting on cold stone,
She can hear her mother moan over the long
Distance of miles and space. She looks at the sky,
At clouds, at the blueness, of birds in flight, and
Knows she’ll see his face in her dreams that night.

vivid scene, a peek inside her thoughts, like a fly inside the cranial wall.......

thank you saw.