poem: my job to get rid of the body

Tell Tale Heart by Jo Stroud

once a stout and stubborn hero
old self
forever survivor
clutches as if to drown me

I tape my mortal mouth
to silence useless truth

stuff what i knew of love
under calloused floorboards
rug rolled over the body

lay down your arms, warrior
yield your yearning to ghosts
let the hollow take yesterday’s eyes
let eulogy be your lullaby

soon will and flesh loosen
straining grit and marrow
soot of recollection
let bones be seeds of tomorrows

it’s my job to get used to
the smell
the grip of phantom heart
the tears in my food

for these too shall pass
so they tell me


rhon drinkwater © 2008, edited 2009


  1. Anonymous


    The only thing i can say about this poem is it gives me chills. The part about the slackening flesh and decay of the marrow. Love how it talks about the bones being seeds. Absolutely beautiful.

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