Poem by Jon Benham
Complicit
The spoon winks up at me,
its round face shining
with answers.
The needle speaks
of fire and waste.
You sometimes say
that I'm strongest
in my broken places.
I'm just broken now, not
strong. I am full of ruin.
I'll just have another hit and
lie some more, all the while
you're quiet in your grief.
You and your grief and your
awful silence.
The spoon winks up at me,
its round face shining
with answers.
The needle speaks
of fire and waste.
You sometimes say
that I'm strongest
in my broken places.
I'm just broken now, not
strong. I am full of ruin.
I'll just have another hit and
lie some more, all the while
you're quiet in your grief.
You and your grief and your
awful silence.
When not writing about unredeemable people in bad situations, Debbie enjoys letting her dog drag her around her Richmond, Virginia neighborhood. She hasn't decided which she likes more. Debbie has been published in The Wild Word, Third Wednesday, and Flatbush Review, among others.