by Stacey Z. Lawrence

Yet deep within this dire stirring,
I still curl near you,
atop worn velvet couch, pull
piles of pillows below our feet
next to my limp beige bra,
your torn suede slippers, the floor
littered
pink viles, violet pills, pots of vomit,
pools of Vaseline
in lids.

I rub jelly into bed sores
cover you, tuck our soft afghan,
stripes of apricot and tomato,
under your skin, sweep
sweats of silver hair
from your forehead
and fall asleep, a dog
by your feet until
morning.
&
&

Stacey Z. Lawrence

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Stacey Z Lawrence teaches Poetry and Creative Writing at Columbia High School in Maplewood, NJ. She studied poetry at The Millay Colony and received a fellowship to The Frost Place. She is working on her first book of poems.