|
MINA HARKER TO DR. VAN HELSING
Since the morning after the dream,
the crucifix does not so much
terrify –
terror does not stir
the hiss from my throat, nor well
the red tear cornered in my eye –
rather, it is the upside-
down of fear.
Salvation’s bite
pales like the mirror – does not scab
over skin, but remains inside its
deep vault.
The pump’s engines
strain.
And would it matter, I’d peel
back the muslin wrap, skin and sternum,
bear to you the withins
of the chest.
But let this suffice –
one glimpse of that blood-matted
criminal’s hair, one atom of stare –
the sticky-sweet liquids freed
by railroad spikes through wrist,
through ankle, the bayonet-spigot
saturations of railroad wood
and sod –
a flash of this twisted stuff,
and I’m the last unnoticed woman
when the nightclub’s clearing – three
o’clock and wanting more the more
the swill –
the way the women and
men leave, their scents trailing long
behind –
they go the way the dead go
after rising.
No, it has nothing to do with fear, Doctor.
The wine that’s fed you
up to this day – the spill that keeps
us able to kill – the Truth is simple –
I could never get enough of that.
A.H. Hofer is a graduate of the MFA Program at Wichita State University.
His home is Covington, Kentucky, and he teaches English at Brown Mackie College in Cincinnati.
Email: A.H. Hofer
Return to Table of Contents
|