Acrylic. Canvas panel. 16×20
©Elle Wonders 2017
Acrylic. Canvas panel. 16×20
©Elle Wonders 2017
Acrylic. Canvas panel. 11×14.
©Elle Wonders 2017
Acrylic. Canvas panel. 11×14.
©Elle Wonders 2017
Acrylic. Canvas panel. 11×14.
©Elle Wonders 2017
If we ever break up,
let’s promise right now
to give each other
one last night,
I tell him.
One last goodbye.
But when the day arrives
the promise fades
into our vacant eyes
and shattered stances.
Countless months later,
when I finally find the lever
hidden amongst the tocsin,
I receive a text.
“Do you remember
our last night together —
the one we never had?”
It’s been nearly two years,
I tell him.
“I know,” he says.
“I just can’t stop thinking
about that last goodbye.”
©Elle Wonders 2017
I cup my hand
over the starkness
of my right breast.
Like an inverse
pledge of allegiance,
I swear fidelity
to the ruined,
and try to hold
the pain
within my palm.
.
When asked,
I refuse help.
I don’t want them
to see the salt lines
of my disgrace —
the shame
of letting you
wrench the chaos
from where
I’ve kept it
hidden
for decades.
The shame
of letting you
uncork the bottle
that I’ve kept
sealed
with bits of wax
and twine.
The shame
of letting you
pour that shit
everywhere.
Dousing me
with my own
lighter fluid,
and watching,
eyes lit,
as the flames
lick my sanity.
.
When the ash
settles
you tell me
your intentions
were good.
You were only
trying to save me
from the fire.
.
.
.
©Elle Wonders 2017
I chase after him
on the steep hill
of the fortress,
but he deftly
slips through
my fingertips
like he slipped
through his final
year of boyhood.
I reach out,
catch the hood
of his jacket,
and laugh
with triumph
as I hug tight
my only child,
until he finally
stands with me,
side by side.
Just before
the shutter is
released,
I drape my arm
casually
around his neck,
as if I wasn’t
holding on to him
for dear life.
©Elle Wonders 2017
Do you remember
the day we went
swamping
in the Louisiana bayou
and I spotted
the tiny dead turtle
on the bank of the river?
We wandered down
to the shoreline,
under a canopy
of tendrilled
Spanish moss,
and I found her
lying helpless
on her back,
swaying in the cool
shallow water.
When I saw the
broken state of her
once beautiful shell,
I knew it was
a sign
of the break in me
that was to come.
©Elle Wonders 2017
“Does your husband
ever bring you flowers?”
she asks while fussing
with a large bouquet
of cliché red buds.
“He brings me frogs,”
I answer, trying hard
to not sound smug.
“Each time he mows
the summer lawn,
he’ll catch me a little
tree frog. He holds it
in the palm of his hand
and we laugh as it slowly
climbs up his arm and
across his back before
leaping into the fresh cut
grass.”
Glancing at her roses,
she looks crestfallen
and whispers that her
husband never brings
her frogs.
©Elle Wonders 2017
When I can’t
get out of bed
he brings me tea
and sits on the edge
of the mattress,
sharing with me
his quiet,
as he strokes
my hair
and looks at me
with every
good word
I’ve ever heard.
©Elle Wonders 2017
I know some fields that need walking —
land that will set me free.
I know some paths that need wandering —
roads that I’ve meant to see.
I know some words that need speaking —
thoughts that I wish you knew.
There’s still some life that needs living —
years I want to spend with you.
©Elle Wonders 2017
