Winter 2017 — THE POTOMAC
Three Poems
Stephen Jarrell Williams
She
On purpose
She stepped on my bare foot
At the boardwalk thick crowd
Blocking my way
Facing me with hands on her hips
Smiling like I had just won a prize instead of pain
My big toe throbbing
She was light framed but had on some black heavy boots
The heels worn probably from stomping on toes
I grimaced
Standing there staring down at her
She was closer to old than young
Like me
A beauty once
But now a valuable antique
A tight–eyed goddess with everything still perky
She said
I can fix that
I said
My toe?
She said
Your life...
And she did.
The Waves
She would come home when I least expected her
She had a knack for that
Rushing up and holding on to me
Like she hadn't seen me in years
When it was actually only a few days
And those following nights
We would drown ourselves
She was expert at pouring herself all over me
Steam rising from my body
Again and again she smothered me
Until I awoke with her note taped on the mirror
It read...
I know you
What you like
And when you like it
Always leaving a little sand in your bed.
Acceptance
Her death magnifies
Especially when I close my own eyes
Her scent coming in with the waves
People on the boardwalk talking
Moving on behind me in their dull ways
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