from “Werewolves and Other Monsters”
By Della Vance Greenawalt
Don't think I don't know that you could kill me, I saw you try. I know you could. I remember how your hands felt Around my neck, the necklace you gave me Of bruises. Don't tell me you are cured All these years later, I know better. I was there at counseling when you blamed me, your parents, the world For your imagined mistreatment, your bad behavior. By circumstance? By birth? We both know your parents your environment your frustration my helplessness Are not to blame, We both know you were not damaged in your youth, That your unnaturalness is all you know. That you have always been Evil, from the womb or before. You have hidden your ugly secret by being A pillar in church, at work, around everyone Except us, your family. There is no way to hide Your real self. No way to come clean when you are Dirty. How you must hate seeing me Alive doing thriving After I have seen your inner self, Your missing soul, your nothingness Your ink black howl, hidden deep, It comes out and terrorizes You, me, anyone who looks into your feral eyes. Now I understand their pale green-yellow color, And how they change to black to match your Rage. Don't tell me you are tamed civilized cured. Don't tell me the arrest the probation the counseling took. Don't explain away your history Of strangling the women in your life, The women you wanted to kill, Beginning with me. They know I know You And your vile, barely masked madness that will Master you One day And there will be no survivor left to write of it. 11/2001
2 thoughts on “Past Lives”
Wow. Encore please.