Richard Grahn
Dead Horse
You creak on the edge of the bed as you sit beside me. Been two years since I’ve seen you. Feet still don’t reach the floor; you untie my shoes—plop—plop … ruffle my cowlick. I’ve never seen you like this before: upturned chin, clear eyes, relaxed brow, soft words—I wait for the words I’m dying to hear. But, instead, I hear different words … uttered from a different world. I listen to each, balled up in knots, waiting for the bad part to end. All I want is to be home. You tell me there is no home. All I want to hear is that it’s time to come home.
paper cut—
from an empty envelope
your perfume
causes my eyes
to water
About the Author
Richard Grahn stays busy as the “founding collaborative artist” and “Jack of some trades” at Drifting Sands Haibun and the Drifting Sands – Poet’s Hub. He has been widely published online and in print. His comprehensive bio and more of his poetry can be found on his Poet’s Hub Page and Blog.