Two poems by Helen Vitoria

Red Shooter

I used to be able to hear everything.
Spades into earth.
That first bulb pushing
through−
A snap on the vine.
A casino chip falling
on carpeted floor.
Every dropped note.
The Closet.
Decipher the names
he said in his sleep.
I was everyone’s ear.

*

GIRL 

first
date
his
taste
for
blood
was
not
unlike
the
last
time
he
likened
you
to his
mother

More poetry at Used Furniture.

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  1. […] Used Furniture Review, two poems by Helen […]

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