Quick, Quick, Slow Hear me read this

Hemingway’s trigger finger
performed its final action
for the man of action-–
bang: definitely dead.

But Sylvia knelt with her head
in the oven, waiting for the blue mist
to claim her blood
while she played this film
over and over:
switch off the gas,
open the windows,
go and hug your children.

Virginia filled her pockets with stones
and waded in from the river bank,
forcing herself ever deeper
when even the water whispered
Go home – your husband loves you.

Understand this: men know
they are fickle, while women
keep faith with death, hold fast
until those last, even breaths.

Previously appeared in The 2River View

Index Of Published Poems