dancing between torn pores to the cruel world above,
a rose perfume strong enough for the sharks to smell
in the ocean that roared two miles away.
Tears, salty as those roaring waters,
fell softly with a silence that lent serenity
in the midst of brutality.
She cried out as her piano-player hands,
so fragile and delicate,
scratched the floor, searching for safety
when she was shoved to the ground.
Her knees burned from the rough rug beneath her,
but she caught herself well;
she’d had plenty of practice.
Another singer’s sorrowful scream ripped through the air,
as once again, he viciously grabbed her hair,
accompanying her hurt with a harmony of yells,
of demands and rhetorical questions
drifting through the walls of the flat,
only to be hesitantly ignored by neighbors,
who just wanted to be left alone.
A slap proved to be the eye of the storm,
when she stood and raised her hand like
she’d never done before, but had wanted to
for such a long time.
Everything was still,
and then they were plunged once again into the fury
of harmful winds and hurt,
as his face contorted into a hurricane of hate.
Her cries grew louder with his fury, seemed to sprout
from that red mark on his cheek, shaped so delicately,
with an almost graceful slope to the red silhouette.
The people across the hall turned up their music
and tried to drown themselves with shameful ignorance.
Their guilt sang louder than the stereos could go.
Mourning-glory marks
would decorate her on the morrow,
when he’d calm back down again and apologize,
and she’d turn away and mumble a few words,
trying to forget the monster inside her house.
The neighbors, chancing upon her in the hallway,
would turn away in embarrassment,
hollow apologies in their hollow eyes,
when they happened upon her husband’s
display of love, a beautiful bouquet of mottled black,
blooming across her lovely face.
Hers would be a muted mortification.
Her release, her rescue from the man
she used to love, and who taught her silence
with the back of a meaty hand,
rested in those shame-faced neighbors,
who’d put their hands on a phone,
but lost the nerve over and over again,
not wanting to create trouble,
not wanting to be involved,
who allowed evil in the world,
again and again and again.
Spoiler
Ending was "mottled blooms written across her face" but I changed it to "a beautiful bouquet sprouted.... thoughts?
And THEN I added an entire new stanza. Again, thoughts?
And THEN I added an entire new stanza. Again, thoughts?
So, this was a really random write for me. (yay for accidental alliteration?)
I know this really needs work- I'm curious, specifically, if there is enough emotion and/or concluding tone? I wasn't sure on either part, and I might add onto it, if anyone thinks it's worth it. Any input at all, even if it's just a single word, would GREATLY be appreciated. Thanks for reading. c:
-Coral-
