The Night Before the Therapy Session
The lighted windows bleed into the night
Dread sours inside the little house, in the light
will come a reckoning. The biopsy will be back
He will hear the things his wife has feared to say
for seven years, she will find in the washed mirror
of the morning the lines that have accumulated, her
lies and wasted time she is accused of, he
will see in the morning paper the story of his cruelty, they
will be told the terror that the children faced, the
tide of her dark rage is rising once again, the
gripping charismatic moon is pulling fluids
toward it through the sky, her blood, his mind,
the sea, the hollow gut of fear, they
will have to swim up on their rage again, they
will bleed and die.
The cool absorbent night
lies soft against the windows bleeding light
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