Dee Rimbaud © 2005 All Rights Reserved
Development: Step 31
I had nearly memorized the alphabet when it became evident
that nothing mattered. I had a soul. I couldn’t remove that leather
from my shoe. I trod on it. I washed it in a rain cloud. Anyway,
it was here and meant to stay here. I thought: well, my whole life
I’ve looked in the closet for the wrong scarf. Here it is, cold outside
and I’m searching for a noose. No one appreciated my tie on
Sunday. At church, everyone looked at me as if the bulging
veins in my neck were rattlesnakes. Some could see the color
of the scales bleeding through. My epidermis was thin. Like everything,
I was nearly see-through and reminded myself of a paper lamp shade
and the light bulb inside was the thing I kept trying to hide.
Peter Davis lives and teaches in Muncie, Indiana. He has a sweet wife, a beautiful son, and a loyal dog. Barnwood Press recently published an online chapbook of his poems, In the States, and he is the editor of Poet’s Bookshelf: Contemporary Poets on Books that Shaped Their Art, also from Barnwood.
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