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    WARNING: Stories on this site may contain mature language and situations, and may be inappropriate for readers under the age of 18.

    QUARANTINE by J. Michael
    July 8, 2008  Poetry   Tags: ,   

    She knows the taste of nails,
    a clutch of them in her mouth
    like a dressmaker’s pins.
    The flavor of iron is comforting,
    something she can wield.
    Something that will not decay.
    She knows the weight
    of a hammer, its friendly lever
    the extension of her own bones,
    its metal face, her fist.
    She has plans for this.
    She knows every centimeter
    of the house, could walk it blindfolded
    in the 3 a.m. dark and rearrange
    the delicate teacups
    on their petal-thin saucers.
    Each whining floorboard, each notch
    in each door.  She knows the number
    of cans stacked in silver towers,
    each match and bullet.
    She hides her life like a secret,
    rolls it in her palms.
    The burnt crevice that was the stoop,
    the boards pounded in layers
    as thick as a scab, the bolts and braces.
    Her heartbeat is her treasure.
    She knows each thud.

    7 Comments

    1. Ooohh, I love this one:D

      Comment by Flytch on July 9, 2008 @ 9:02 am

    2. I’m not a fan of poetry, but this one was nice. When will there be more long stories?

      Comment by Nina on July 11, 2008 @ 10:03 am

    3. Not a fan of poetry Nina? Then you obviously havnt read anything by Charles Bukowski…he’ll make you a fan real quick,promise.

      Comment by SMEAR on July 21, 2008 @ 4:05 pm

    4. Nails “like a dressmaker’s pins,” “petal-thin saucers,” boards “thick as a scab” — some very vivid and effective imagery here. Nice.

      Comment by Renee on July 22, 2008 @ 7:33 pm

    5. That was truely awesome!

      Comment by Zoe on August 31, 2008 @ 12:07 pm

    6. that was a poem? but it didnt even rhyme

      Comment by damien on October 4, 2008 @ 6:53 pm

    7. Very creative, i loved it!! 😀

      Comment by ChaosPeng on December 9, 2010 @ 8:25 am

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