"Forgotten Fault Lines"

Written By

Roger Wayne Eberle

Two Tuesdays have passed

since our grim anniversary, and now

it is hump day again, and you

still swear the glass

is half empty, and I keep pouring.

Like the monsoon,

I won't quit.


Tears move you alright.

Still you stay, statuesque.

Your fault

lines parallel my

rock solid alibis.

I am still bursting

in on the scene in full cry,

gull-like, hovering on the wind,

a little at sea, a little beach-bound,

indecisive as a brushfire,

twice as volatile.


Bonding was never easy with you:

locking lips as chancy as a slow dance.

Back seat bump and grind, a tourniquet,

embracing to discard with pleasure.


I can still hear my awkward silences lingering,

nicotine stains of nepenthe

washing over the fingers of my mind

as they strangle dark thoughts

into paroxysms of blinding rage.


I was never there.

I still do not see you in his arms,

do not hear you lying stiller

than stone, do not

feel the lash of your fault lines

across the San Andreas contours

of my broken back, and I tremble

not a whit

to think what storms

my calm may conjure.

Roger Eberle moonlights as an Arts and Entertainment Critic when he is not teaching English or pedalling his bicycle in support of finding a cure for Multiple Sclerosis. He has published his poetry in The Eclectic Muse and in AuthorsDen.com. He is privileged to be in his thirtieth year of marriage to someone who truly understands him and somehow still loves him in spite of that. Thanks to Breath and Shadow for looking beyond my words.

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