It is such a strange time, such a painful and difficult time, and in beautiful form, so many of the writers and artists I know have risen to the occasion and begun to share so much of their art with the world. This prompted me to be courageous and start up my Recorded Poetry Series again. Yesterday, I posted a sort of second introduction and the first poem for this second incarnation of the series.

If you have the time, I hope you will take a listen.

Time Spent in Doorways

I bite back images

of staggering into midnight,

intoxicated and burned by rage,

a gift from my abusers.

Eyeless, it flies like a blade

through my memory.

My hands are fierce and stained

with the stigmata of bitterness and indignation.

I remember your fingers firm against my throat,

forcing me backwards into the crowd.

Spurned by the flicker of violence,

I strike your cruel lips, 

coil back with shame and run.

Drunk and stumbling, the icy pavement

tears holes into my fishnets and the

twisting street leads me to collapse in

the doorway of an abandoned coffee shop.

I lay sprawled at the feet 

of an unforgiving night,

drenched in the smell of fury and 

covered with city soot.

*originally published in Chanterelle’s Notebook