Friday, 19 April 2013
'Unmade' by Allie Marini Batts
I can’t wash the sheets, make the bed, or even fluff
the pillows: if I do, you’ll be gone forever. The soft, lightly sour smell of
your unwashed hair, sweaty skin and morning breath is delicately stitched into
the fabric of the bedclothes. One wash and you’ll disappear. I snuggle down
next to the hollow left in the mattress by your absent back, big-spooned
against me in the twilight; drink deep of your smell, pray it lingers. If I’d
known you would not come home again, I would have short-sheeted you with my
limbs and kissed you back to sleep.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
FlashFlood 2023 is OPEN for submissions for one week only!
We are delighted to announce that we are open for submissions for FlashFlood 2023 from 12:01 a.m. BST on Sunday, 30 April to 23:59 BST on Sa...
-
One day the planet tilted just ever so slightly to the left and everyone and everything I’d ever known in between fell off. It wasn’t easy t...
-
A girl sits, waiting. She reaches above her head for a girl. A girl to pluck from the tree of girls. The tree is full and ripe, the perfect ...
-
A shaft of sunlight fell across the worn herringbone floor, drawing his gaze upwards to the flawless blue sky beyond the row of windows, ...
Oh gosh - a huge tragedy in a tiny space. Very well done.
ReplyDelete