Poem: “Haunted Sleep”

Why do I lose my language
when the sinewy shadow
of your washed out
cadaver
approaches me?
We are dead,
so you should have no sway
over the fog inside my wet skull.
Yet, a thumbprint is still
visible on the doorknob
and I think it’s yours.

Don’t stammer when you speak
to me;
I know your gentle words
deceive
like fables with a castigatory.
You sing, but your refrain
is tired and inadequate
and I am weary of listening
to your cactus
voice.
Leave me leafless
and take your tongue
elsewhere,
or I will bury it.

– Saratoga Schaefer, written November 2019