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Sunday, March 8, 2015

Featuring RL Raymond

The driveway

not plowed
was scarred
with fresh tire marks

From the eaves
icicles hung
long as a man’s leg
askew
as if broken
blown sideways
by the warming breeze

They clung
awkwardly
against the first thaw
of the new season

He parked away from the house

He walked carefully
keeping his distance
and his eyes
on the spires

He ducked
to the front door
now safe
under the porch

Inside
assaulted by warmth
and change
his glasses fogged over

Blind
liberating a shirt tail
he smelled the second wave –
fingers of musk
of lust
of alien masculinity
closed into a fist
punched him
unexpectedly
through the backdrop
of familiarity

Smells of… not him…

All was clear now
condensation wiped away
his wife sitting
at the table
silent
two cups before her
empty
echoes of a back door
resounding still

There was snow on his shoes

He hadn’t dropped his suitcase

Her eyes were red

Her hair was loose

“It happened once…  just once…”
she pled

Snow melted on the kitchen floor

He didn't drop his suitcase

Between visions
            of smashed limbs
shattered jaws
splintered frames
he focused on her
just her

I never strayed…

She sat
silent

The front door closed
quietly

Water seeped into the grout
defeated
in slow retreat

When he stepped outside
there was no fog
the wind hadn’t shifted
the icicles still hung

Yet
as he walked
back to the car
snow repacking his soles
he slapped the icy spikes
oblivious
letting them fall
beside him
driven into the hardening banks
upright
like bars
askew
he outside
she within
maybe looking through
the window
maybe not
as he left
again
his tracks
the last




Raymond writes stories and takes pictures. Check out www.RLRaymond.ca for more info.