Her resentment was born of all of life's small daily tragedies. Minor insults and inconveniences, a list, which if spoken out-loud would seem mundane to those in a social strata above her.
Slowly destruction, small bites a day at a time.
In a better equation, her strength too would have been mid-wived from these bites. No, an only child. A week of Mondays. Ah baby, you got me singing the blues again.
Only when we are done, for the night, for distraction, only because it goes so well with your sister's stifled cries and the distorted alto-clanging of the bathroom sink's pipes.
After all these years, I know exactly how long of a solo to take in this little trio.
I know, I know, you will win. Heartbreak can be beautiful. I want to be around to watch. Beautiful, as you.
Wayne H. W. Wolfson lives in California. His work has appeared in Poems Neidergasse, 3 A.M., and Art Revolutionaries.
His website, Terrible Beauty, can be found at