Poem

Aftermath

This is not where you expected.

You landed here in a fit of rage-
driving while the moon ticked across the sky,
while the dew collected on the blades in the field.
Whatever he'd said, you cut it at the throat,
then cut apart 
what was left of your heart.
A house can only hold so much blood.

Now morning has burned away and revealed
a deserted landscape.
Those that once lived here,
gone in some unseen event.
Only a few graves
and the occasional lost dog remain.

Your hollowed chest should feel hurt for it.
Only a dead woman would feel nothing.
But all day long the dead go about their way.

*
Photographer Feeling The Green
Poem written 2014