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Killing the Trust
~ Tina Gray
I will laugh with your ghosts-
these sheeted reminders of your wicked past;
I will take their coats and hats as any good hostess,
and rub their bald heads in tandem recklessness-
flirting with the host in a feverish glee.
I will set a table for afternoon tea
and invite your wraiths of sordid history.
We'll have crumpets and scones and bilberry pies,
watercress wedges and finger delights.
I will don my best apron of matronly prim,
and entertain late into evening’s dim light.
I will pepper each spook with kindness and praise
and thank them for an evening of pleasurable grace.
Then I'll send them away with refined blasé…
and you’ll cringe at the sight, in unspeakable fright-
as I befriend your haunted past.
I will dance with these bones that reside in your room,
that sneak to your closets and bang heavy doors…
I will capture the hands of this calcified goon
and we’ll waltz upon professing floors.
We will swoon with the grace of rattling bones
and jiggle the locks to your unopened drawers,
while his fingers make play as skeleton keys-
exposing forgotten troves…
Then I'll bathe in the rush of this mellowed perfume
that flows as sweet syrup from old letters exhumed…
I will bask in the dewiness of True Jasmine’s breath,
lathering with the musk of a Sunflower’s Crest
and rinse with a shower of Rose Petal Mist-
until I reek of the soup of mingling fumes.
I will paint with the palette of lips left behind-
these that sealed tender notes with a hollowed out kiss;
my artwork will burst with red rums and plums…
coffee spiced sands and pink bubblegums…
it will resonate with apricots and raspberry wines,
(and I’ll trump my own shade, if I so incline)…
Adrift on the sea of intimate words,
I'll float with ease upon contented waves
until the writings bore holes in my vessel’s kind face-
clipped by the berg of your icy charades
and I’ll sink, just as your promises to heartsick girls.
On my knees I will dredge the depths of façade
and surface on the banks of a fallen saint.
I’ll be castaway here on this shore, in disgust…
drying fresh tears by a blazing bonfire
that brims with the ash of your past artifacts.
And the flares will reflect in my now-opened eyes
as unquenchable flames of awakened mistrust.