< Issue 6 >
Black Widow
by Melina Papadopoulos
I. Wedding Rings and Widow Webs
in a cabin famous
for its honeymoon warmth
and stars eavesdropping
on midnight kisses
from the window,
there's a spider
weaving her web
from the ceiling,
but in the sunlight
eyelet lace and wedding rings
come to mind.
and she, she is anything but nuptial;
she has her dirge clothes on,
a demon frowns its fire
on her back. She plans her steps
across the air like a bride,
but with a bitter ballerina's agenda.
Her husband could be away
because to her he would only
ever smell like proposal
and taste like commitment.
it might have rained
on their big day,
but perhaps she'll be over it
once she puts her poison
in her prayers.
II. Leftover Heart
her web is a construction paper heart,
strings taut, fervor only in the sunlight--
someone forgot to spare their valentines
from hanging by one thread
(and perhaps she knew
that's how heartbreak happens,
by making one heart face heights alone)
on her back,
the demon's lips
curve not into a grin
but into a wrathful cupid arrow.
she leaves her mourner's clothes on.
the fireplace whimpers
from the wind, its lust in ashes.
at night stars converse
of abandoned romance scenes
and kissless evenings
on the windowsill
and she is alone,
a heartbeat's dirge
residing on a web--
the only heart
ever known to keep
its strings exposed
Black Widow
by Melina Papadopoulos
I. Wedding Rings and Widow Webs
in a cabin famous
for its honeymoon warmth
and stars eavesdropping
on midnight kisses
from the window,
there's a spider
weaving her web
from the ceiling,
but in the sunlight
eyelet lace and wedding rings
come to mind.
and she, she is anything but nuptial;
she has her dirge clothes on,
a demon frowns its fire
on her back. She plans her steps
across the air like a bride,
but with a bitter ballerina's agenda.
Her husband could be away
because to her he would only
ever smell like proposal
and taste like commitment.
it might have rained
on their big day,
but perhaps she'll be over it
once she puts her poison
in her prayers.
II. Leftover Heart
her web is a construction paper heart,
strings taut, fervor only in the sunlight--
someone forgot to spare their valentines
from hanging by one thread
(and perhaps she knew
that's how heartbreak happens,
by making one heart face heights alone)
on her back,
the demon's lips
curve not into a grin
but into a wrathful cupid arrow.
she leaves her mourner's clothes on.
the fireplace whimpers
from the wind, its lust in ashes.
at night stars converse
of abandoned romance scenes
and kissless evenings
on the windowsill
and she is alone,
a heartbeat's dirge
residing on a web--
the only heart
ever known to keep
its strings exposed
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