A Poem in The Antigonish Review

My poem “Peephole” appeared in The Antigonish Review in the Summer, 2016 issue. Enjoy it here as well!


At the front door,
she slides the peephole’s brass disc
to one side, stone
from sepulchre, her pulse

a sump pump in her ears.

The aperture clear, a circle,
the light crystal, April
seizes her eyes.

The view stretches wide
like a child’s mouth at Halloween,
porch posts on either side.
Around the left, his scarf still
hangs, flaccid, a noose.

Near the right, the shovel still
half-cocked in the lilac bush
where it dropped that night.
Its stainless steel
gleamed red,
his face awash
in the ambulance flashers.

The sidewalk splits the circle in two —
fat at the steps, it dwindles
to nothing.
She wants to grasp its tip at the street,
roll it, like those cherry licorice straps
they used to eat at the carnival.

She wants to take back the barb
that drove her man and his pocked heart
to heave the snow,
she wants to roll up her tongue,
chop it out at the root.

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