I am a Storyteller, first and foremost. This is my blog for poetry, prose, stories, excerpts of my novels and videos. Life poetry, prophetic poetry, poetry for all genres. I think you'll find yourself here if you read long enough.
Every night At precisely seven until midnight, He stands in the garden room Surrounded by green living things And beautiful flowers tended with love Orchids, roses, peonies, tiger lillies All her favorites, naturally Though she is the fairest flower of all In his eyes and in his heart He takes out a silver pocket watch And checks the time Runs his hand over the photograph Ensconced in the lid and smiles.
At precisely
Five minutes till midnight,
He climbs the curved staircase
And stands on the top step
Staring at her bedroom door
That is bathed in moonlight
And long-ago memories that always feel recent
And he waits like a schoolboy
Awaiting his first taste of a woman's mouth
The anticipation is exquisite and glorious,
And at the same time, terrifying beyond words
But the brandy influenced bravery
Makes him wait, albeit with shaking hands.
Three years earlier,
She stood on the stairs
Waiting for him
There was no moonlight shining that night
But a strange wind violently blew the sheer curtains
Hanging on the open windows
And filled the air with silver strands of webs
Long ago abandoned by the ghosts of spiders
As the dark skies filled with storm clouds
That threatened to pour down
Like the tears in her eyes
And as they began to fall
She caught them in her open empty hands.
All night, she had waited there
Standing like a doll in her white silk negligee
A doll that could not walk or talk
But nevertheless possessed a human heart
That could be broken and was breaking now
He had called to say he'd be home late
And not to wait up
That he was busy at work and that he loved her
In a breathless, hurried voice
And had hung up before she could find her voice
She thought of the wonderful anniversary dinner
She had made especially for him
And the candles burning and the champagne on ice.
From her viewpoint
She could see the long driveway and the gate
Where she hoped he'd be pulling up to any minute
As he remembered it was their seventh anniversary
And made excuses at work
And made haste to hurry home
With some convenience store cards and roses
And would throw his arms around her
With that sheepish look of his
As he promised to make it up to her
With a trip to Aruba or some exotic locale
And she would sigh and nod
And welcome him into her forgiving arms.
An hour later,
She put the special dinner into a warming oven
And blew out the melted candles
And opened the bottle of his favorite champagne
And drank three glasses
One right after another
As she sat at the top of the stairs
Watching for the gate to open
And his sleek new car to appear on the driveway
She was disappointed in the ruined dinner
But she would get over it, she told herself
How could she not forgive the man
With his sheepish, adorable face?
And then the phone rang
And tipsy, she tripped over the hem of her gown
As she ran to pick it up in the bedroom
Breathless, she giggled and murmured 'hello'
In her sexiest voice
Anticipating all manner of ridiculous excuses
But just so happy to hear his voice
And glad the waiting was over
But it was not his voice she heard
But a female voice she did not recognize
A female voice asking for her husband
And complaining that she was tired of waiting
And would lock him out if he didn't call her soon.
She held the phone, trying to comprehend,
Her heart pounding like a drum
There then followed the customary
Shocked exchange of questions:
"Who is this?" "Who are you?!"
"Why are you calling my home?"
"I'm calling to speak to my fiance.'"
"Well, since you're speaking to his wife,
I find that hard to believe."
"He told me he had never been married!"
"Seven years today!"
"You're lying. I don't believe you!"
And then, "Oh, never mind! He just walked in!"
The rest of the night
Passed in a blur of disbelieving tears
And two empty bottles
Of his favorite champagne
She threw his dinner in the trash
Without eating a bite of it,
Tore the romantic anniversary cards in half,
Smashed the expensive and the funny gifts
She had bought for him with a hammer,
And pulled the CDs of their favorite songs
Out of the stereo and threw them like Frisbees
Against the stone fireplace
Never wanting to hear those songs again.
At some point,
She started having second thoughts
Thinking it may have all been a cruel hoax
Or some prank pulled by a jealous woman
Who had a crush on her handsome, sexy husband
Who knows? She shrugged. It had happened before
And he had laughed it off and told her his usual stories
About how there were evil people out there
That wanted what they had and wanted to ruin things
For those that were happy and in love
And convinced her she was making a big deal out of nothing
Didn't he love her more than life itself?
Of course he did.
"I'm being silly."
She laughed, regretting her destructive tirade
"I'll call that liar back and give her a piece of my mind!"
She found the last call number on her phone
And pressed the button joyfully,
Trying to think up something nasty to say that would sting
The phone was picked up
Then silence
Then her husband's voice came on the line
Her husband's voice
Her seventh Anniversary husband's voice
While a feminine voice giggled in the background
And entreated him to come back to bed.
The whole world spun round
Then crashed and burned
As her heart exploded in her chest
Like a burst balloon
She dropped the phone
And watched it bounce all the way down the stairs
To hit the landing wall and smash and shatter
Even as her husband's voice kept asking
"Hello! Hello! Who is this?"
She collapsed in a heap of white silk
And Alfred Sung perfume
Her long black hair covering her tear-stained face
