A dog bite that breaks skin.
Road kill shocked into rigor mortis.
An unpronounced R.
A pinball battered in a refrigerated machine –
Residual ringing in the ears
from a rebellious bell struck by the ancients.
An I-don’t-have-the-blues-I-have-the-white white.
Foreboding blue-white foreshadowing
death in a film.
A silent whole note held too long.
A strange rhythm.
4 weeks + 1 day (sometimes).
Your sometimes day is an R.
R… R… R… R…
I refuse to say you.
I iron you out and lay you flat,
but you are pleated –
You won’t be smoothed.
Eternal Fold - I can’t
ignore you or forgive you.
You are a hard chair to sit on,
Where is your cushion?
Your cushion would be ice-blue –
Ice covered with snow,
pain brewed with sorrow.
You are a failed fire –
A body too old, too weary, to
give color to its own hair.
Death’s army trains in your camp,
and to wait for The March,
to know that it is coming,
to know your plans for
Christina Sitze lives in Oregon, IL with her husband and children and two dogs.