Dotted Line Dotted Line

Poetry Fall 2013    fiction    all issues

whitespacefiller

Chris Joyner
Wrestlemania III
& other poems

Carey Russell
Visiting Hours
& other poems

Marc Pietrzykowski
Cabinet of Wonders
& other poems

Jonathan Travelstead
Prayer of the K-12
& other poems

Jennifer Lowers Warren
Our Daughter's Skin
& other poems

Jeff Burt
The Mapmaker's Legend
& other poems

Patricia Percival
Giving in to What If
& other poems

Toni Hanner
1960—Lanny
& other poems

Christopher Dulaney
Uncle
& other poems

Suzanne Burns
Window Shopping
& other poems

Katherine Smith
Mountain Lion
& other poems

Peter Kent
Surliness in the Green Mountains
& other poems

William Doreski
Gathering Sea Lavender
& other poems

Huso Liszt
Fresco, The Forlorn Virgin...
& other poems

Clifford Hill
How natural you are
& other poems

R. G. Evans
Dungeoness
& other poems

David Kann
Dead Reckoning
& other poems

Ricky Ray
The Music of As Is
& other poems

Tori Jane Quante
Creatio ex Materia
& other poems

G. L. Morrison
Baba Yaga
& other poems

Joe Freeman
In a Wood
& other poems

George Longenecker
Bear Lake
& other poems

Benjamin Dombroski
South of Paris
& other poems

Ryan Kerr
Pulp
& other poems

Josh Flaccavento
Glen Canyon Dam
& other poems
& other poems

Christine Stroud
Grandmother
& other poems

Abraham Moore
Inadvertent Landscape
& other poems

Chris Haug
Cow with Parasol
& other poems

Mariah Blankenship
Fiberglass Madonna
& other poems

Emily Hyland
The Hit
& other poems

Sam Pittman
Growth Memory
& other poems

Alex Linden
The Blues of In-Between
& other poems

Bobby Lynn Taylor
Lift
& other poems

D. Ellis Phelps
Five Poems

Alia Neaton
Cosmogony I
& other poems

Elisa Albo
Each Day More
& other poems

Noah B. Salamon
Sanctuary
& other poems

Writer's Site

D. Ellis Phelps

Five Poems

i


i wake

the night


screaming


in this house:


a man

—my father—

stands


where he

should not

be        in


the door

—a sheath

—a sheet


covering


     ~


i wake

the night


screaming


in this house:


he

—coming—

in the front


door


not locked

not safe

not sane


—memory

exhumed


     ~


i wake


the night


screaming


in this house:


a child

—myself—

beside me


get the poker

i say


from the fire

go!


(because i

know      because

i know)


     ~


but she

—an aqualung

unplugged—


does not go


     ~


i wake

the night


screaming


in this house:


my mother

—a knife

on the stand—


and me


in the bed

by the wall


—a number

i should call


ii


i have mown

this lawn


& set      sprinklers

out—sentinels


stepping off

each inch


this staccato stitch

—banal        bliss


~


sun      slants across

this      clean cut


& satisfied

i sit—cold


concrete blessing


my skin


     ~


in the kitchen

—my mother


singing—


though hers

is not


a fresh wound


the hen

she fries


still bleeds


     ~


at the table:


sweet tea

white bread


crisp      silence



      ~


is this

the night


my lungs

unplugged


her body      hurled

her head


—a thud


      ~


& i      awake

      a witness


unwilling


iii


in the kitchen

by the door


to the den

blue      cabinets


where you keep

            whiskey


—  decanted

in cut crystal


its lid—a ball

round & cool


in my small hand


     ~


before       you

come in


my mother

and i


sometimes      singing

sometimes      silence


     ~


today        she is tired

so i sit       having tea


with dolls


(white

lace—worn


with time


tiny pearls

holding


fragile folds)


     ~


the back door

sucks     open


what will it be

this time


     ~


blue      cabinets

by the door


to the den


—     reach in

swig the brew


take the sip

that changes


you


iv


november comes


a flush

of cadmium       &


sky


this     month

—you said      


i do


the two of you

certain of love


     ~


november comes


this sun

—a low southern


slant

warming age


spotted skin


& i

am captive


of this

stiletto:


the night

you slammed

her head


(it was

something

she said)


and would not

stop       the cabinets

—clapboard—


slapped blue


dark brown hair

—a wad

in your hand


     ~


november comes


this scene

—indelible:


a child’s chair

(for tea with dolls)


split in half

            flat


& i’m

at your feet


on my knees


please please

daddy         please



v


you sit—slumped

elbows at right

angles      your thick hands

in folds across your broad chest


sock-hatted

head      nodding


these days      you sleep

in this chair (the nights—

too long)


last night i paced

the floor all night


you say

all night

you say


again


as if my ears

could ease


your pain

i lean      closer


i’m sorry      i whisper


weak words that break

in my mouth (i can’t help you

i wish i could)


you don’t give a shit about me

you say


and though i do       i tell you      i do

i do      daddy      i love you


you’ve snapped


& there     is no

going        back


D. Ellis Phelps, painter & poet-novelist, is the author of Making Room for George (Balboa Press, 2013). To engage more of her work visit www.dellisphelps.com or find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/DEllisPhelpsArtist

Dotted Line