Monday, November 13, 2006

Sunday Nights

I hold his throat in my hand
and I feel it vibrating. We sit this way for long moments as I
drink rum and watch Jeopardy. Sometimes he falls asleep.

Sometimes I hold so still my cigarette
burns down to my knuckles.

I have the scars to prove it.

2 comments:

Valerie Loveland said...

Nice last line.

I've only seen longer poems on your blog. Do you write shorter poems like this very often?

Christine said...

I have a couple that are shorter. About 10 -15 percent. I want to fix the line breaks in this one. ehh.

Thanks for the compliment!