Her Laughter

Thirty-three hundred patty-cakes
bounce my sleep.

The murmurs of an absent child
creak the staircase until dawn.

The iron nails securing my spine
flake a glittering rust.

It is hard to repair the pump
that primes my eyes for tears,

while the ghost in my attic
constricts my throat with her laughter.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

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 )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google 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 )

Connecting to %s