Imperfect blips in history.

Silently, She waits…

Maybe for a train, maybe on a lover to arrive, maybe on her child to be let out of school…

She waits, and the minutes fall like down feathers, so slowly, getting caught on every curve of the wind.

Through this time she’s forced into herself, hard, without apology. It causes her to reflect onto the shames that once were. The silhouetted ghosts of time since passed.

Perhaps it was that drunken night when she let four men fuck her in a row.
Maybe it was when she lifted more Oxycontin from her dying mother that she should have.
Or, it could have been as simple as forgetting to sign a field trip permission slip and throwing a ruckus at the school about not properly informing parents of important times.

Idly, she waits and sifts through these unspoken things.

It’s important to her to maintain this unshakable persona. Never, despite the intimacy of a family, of a lover, of the strangers, will she let on to this secret life of being a woman, of being a whore, of being a mother.

Every last one of them carries such a bag.
Some of them relish this privacy, forcing a secret and seductive smile onto her lips. While others, deny like any good religion instructs.

Because after all, no matter the handling,
If you ignore it, it will go away.

She who hangs.

Eleanora was the kind of woman that got what she wanted, though it was never synchronized with her primal desires. She was always without, despite the heaps of with that filled her homes.

She married well.
Again and again.
Until she reached her eighth husband and decided she’d only take dirty lovers found in the slums.

She ate like a bird and attacked like a croc.
She fucked like a fox and digested like a snake.

She managed to escape children, knowing she would devour her young.
Her uterus a twisted and cruel thing, surely to be used as a weapon if removed from her thin frame.

She lived in a developed part of the desert,
but soon would be amongst the swamps.

I kept so quiet.

The profile tells the whole story though you only get half the picture.

She says, “Miss me, miss me.” He sticks his tongue out and says, “Blech, I’m never gonna kiss you.”

Her dead granfather sat in the shadows last night and said, “Oh amore, non danno ancora.”

All while the raccoon stole tiny purple blooms from her front flower bed at an ungodly hour.