By Laura Serwe
After shower and pipe he shined
his man’s face in the bathroom mirror.
Book and frying pan, Lustra then egg.
Categories and rank and language
oil-embossed. He untangled the knot
to his starched striped pajamas.
Good night, wife. I love you.
***
Buried beneath comforter her day
replayed. Words hung in a script-
read way. Like laundry, these words
dried on the line were tugged down
so she could lather in again
Dynamite stick and lit:
alone she burrowed a hole
deep inside her husband’s head.
She chewed,
love-stuffed mouth, molasses
smeared against the mahogany headboard.
His language a mystery.
Charred throat-snore: his head
hollowed out. She mined.
Cold dirt funneled through her
fingers dusting the polished floor.
***
In silence and in failure there is a pulse
that creeps down hallways of their house.
Laura Serwe has been published in Sundog Lit, Sheepshead Review, Mad Hat Lit, and is forthcoming in The Canopy Review. She works part-time at the Public Defender and as an adjunct instructor. She and her husband live in Columbia, MO with their imaginary dog, Professor Pugglesworth
The Crossing 