Grace and Lace (Unmentionables, 21)

A pause. Interject grace.
Insert beauty. Because
this is not beautiful.
Because this had no grace,
no gratitude. There was
a window. A small one,
its curtain made of lace.
The lace was light, and pale
as cream, pale as my skin.
I’d made the lace myself,
with my own two hands, with
a crochet hook so thin
and sharp it could have been
a needle, a weapon.
It could slide into silk
and hook a single thread.
It could tie knots in one
solitary hair. It
could slip sharp in my skin,
and I’d hiss at the red
welling from the spot. I
wish I’d been crocheting
when he came. Instead of
sleeping. Being woken.
The lace was light. The lace
was full of holes. The holes
were dark. Dark and light, dark
and bright. After midnight.
Even later. After
the bars close. Full of holes.
The lace cascades from hole
to hole. Liquid. Frozen.
He moved so fast. Oh, yes,
that’s right. I’d forgotten.
There was grace and beauty.
In his flushed skin, thick beard,
the arc of his muscles,
the graceful way he moved
(like a dangerous beast).
It was what he did next
with his muscles that was
ugly.

Advertisements

3 responses to “Grace and Lace (Unmentionables, 21)

  1. I feel the sense of anger and despair in this poem (and anger that violence seems to have occurred to an innocent)

  2. Pingback: Unmentionables (The Series) | Rosefire Rising

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s