Family – Page 3 – Iron Haiku

an old red broomstick
the paint worn through to the wood
from countless fingers
–
deep in the attic-
sweeping out
forgotten dirt

covers pulled up high-
living in constant fear of
the click of the latch
–
black and blue sky-
waiting for the
impending storm

saturday morning-
I fall back to sleep, your kiss
drying on my lips
–
the bedroom door-
your pillow
still warm

deceptive shadows-
I make my way back to bed
the hall light left on
–
moonlight on the floor-
I check again
under her bed

the dimly lit booth-
a small guttering candle
spills it’s meager light
–
two martinis-
your foot on
my bar stool

below the surface-
shadows of nameless horrors
rise up unbidden
–
deep in the night-
wrenched from sleep by
echoes of dreams

the snick of scissors-
years of her identity
in piles on the floor
–
afternoon rain-
the buzz of gossip
and razors

on gossamer wings-
fate finds you leaving this vale
far before your time
–
endless night
dawn reaches out
her empty hand

uncomfortable chairs-
the smell of antiseptic
I’ll never forget
–
sheets of rain-
footsteps echo off
glazed white tile

tongue already sharp
another shot of bourbon
hones the razors edge
–
rain slicked asphalt-
streetlights glare
in the gutter