Plate Tectonics
by Christopher Hivner
The shift was soft
at first,
the movement underfoot
sent small shudders
beneath my skin.
The quiet from her space
registered as
a temporary misfire
after years of test work.
I walked room to room
not seeing the cracks
in the foundation,
not feeling the pressure building.
Time became unbearable,
words were eaten
and swallowed
with a dry mouth,
silence tethered us
with wire
pierced through our lips,
drops of blood
running along the metal brace
to meet in the middle
and fall to the floor.
The rupture that knocked me down
came when she spoke
so matter-of-factly.
As our chain snapped back in my face,
dead words
dropped from her mouth.
I fell
into an open crevasse,
her voice
chasing along behind.
Plumes of ash
sprouted into the air
obscuring her face,
rumbling like a derailed train
closed around me
but when she spoke again
the words still got through.
We settled
as the sun went down,
me here,
she out in the fog.
I scavenged in the rubble
for a list of days,
finding solace
in my position
as King of empty space
where the doors stay shut
to hide my body,
wrapped in bloody wire,
her words
still singing
in the vibrations.
*****
Christopher Hivner writes from a small town in
Pennsylvania surrounded by books (a little bit of everything) and the echoes of
music (mostly hard rock/heavy metal and blues). His horror/dark fantasy poetry
collection, Dark Oceans of Divinity, was recently published by
Cyberwit.net. Facebook: Christopher Hivner - Author, Twitter: @Your_screams
Bernice Holtzman’s paintings and collages have appeared in shows at various
venues in Manhattan, including the Back Fence in Greenwich
Village, the Producer’s Club, the Black Door Gallery on W. 26th St., and
one other place she can’t remember, but it was in a basement, and she was well received.
