The Chill
THE CHILL
I feel the chill of my backbone played
Like the opera phantom’s piano. Strange,
Each hair upon my arms, electrically charged.
As the storm lights up my moon-shaped face,
With hollow frightened crescent eyes,
Flickering something wicked, like
A jack-o’-lantern in the deep dark
Cavern of night. Another fearsome flash
Seems to linger and look at me. I scream.
But unlike my childhood dreams,
My mother’s not around to coddle me.
A thunderous eruption wrinkles the walls,
Felling a vainglorious painting to the floor.
And the ghostlike pale of face causes me to faint.
My knees knock together as I rise from the floor
And an oddly dressed woman places me once again
Upon the papered wall, awfully pretty with petite roses.
6/29/2017
Free verse
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2017
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