She’d left
Her record on
Last night
When the pair
Was sleeping
Across that floor
By the fire
Where moonlight
Paled
On her face
Dim
As the glow
From her cheeks
Fading quick
As she hassled
Turning fast
Under blankets
Hot
Between flannels
And sex
Sweating thick
When she dreamed
Then waking
Soon
From a nightmare
To the whine
Of her crying baby
Like blues
Of a distant
Affair
His pitch
A piercing wail
Clean
As an instrument
Screaming
Or guitars
Eerily calling
With voices
Loud
From her past
As she laid
Achingly still
Fearing
That music
So distant
Which trailed
Haunting
But closer
Following ghosts
Into rooms
Through shadows
Banging on walls
With messages
Told
By their knocking
Speaking low
Of those devils
Who lived
Not far
From her womb
As hurt
She nurtured
Inside
Grew mad
And shockingly restless
Kicking hard
In her stomach
As she stood
Erect
With a gasp
Pursuing tunes
That she heard
Like tears
Which came
From the kitchen
And an infant
Born in her memory
Not held
Or easily
Fed
Remembering
Losses deep
Yet shallow
Enough
For a bottle
Filled
To the brim
With crimson
Like blood
Of forgotten flesh
On the wood
Which easily stained
From her legs
Spotted
And yielding
Near the fridge
So perfectly
Fallen
Drunk as death
Bid her well
Doubting
Those grapes
Were sweet
That time of year
At the mansion
Peering out
Upon vineyards
Where darkness
Hung
Over fields
Wishing
Her second chance
Wasn’t cursed
Or deemed
Such a challenge
But the sin
Of her husband’s
Obsession
Proved in fact
It just might
Be a source
For continuing rage
As the song
Did play
Until daylight
Reminding
Anna was victim
To a man
Whose legacy
Thrived.
Outside
That morning came
And with it
Work
For the season
But still
No child existed
Except
In her soul
Which had passed
As Anna
Peered
Unto Earth
Unsure if her heaven
Was waiting
Expecting God
Would console her
Instead
He had asked
For revenge.
– J. Pigno
The Instance and The Phrase 