Poetry: raspy confessions of the bodies buried beneath the floorboards by Abbie Doll

Photo by Jakob Braun on Unsplash

when the wind grows fierce
when it roars and roars and roars
the air around us changes
the atmosphere turns dire
hauling boisterous voices from afar
each new gust, each burst of razored air
propels the porch swing
thrusting it into rigid bricks
slamming into the wall
again and again and again
ramming itself into its crevasses
unwelcome but insistent
it crashes like waves pummeling the sand
a ghastly attempt at rhythm
chaotic at best, a drummer without a beat—
but still, it knocks
on the bricks with its splintered fists
as if to say
let me in let me in let me in
demanding entrance
to the unknown
it’s an angry mob trampling through town
banging on the door of the miscreant
demanding justice with the torches they wield
the weapons they carry
each collision yields a thump
an unsolicited bump
it beats the house
while the house struggles to conceal
each new bruise
showcased on its crimson cheeks

the wind triggers memories of abuse
of unwarranted violence
swift and sudden
delivered without cause
the wind carries these sounds
we’d rather not hear
exposing everything in hiding
unlatching all the locked doors
revealing our secrets and sins
too many to name, too many to name

Abbie Doll is an eclectic mess of a person who loves exploring the beautiful intricacies of the written word. She resides in Columbus, OH, and received her MFA from Lindenwood University; her work has been featured in Cathexis Northwest Press, The Rush, OPEN: Journal of Arts & Letters (O:JA&L), among others. Follow her @AbbieDollWrites.

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