There's a body at the bottom
of the stairs lying
in a pool of blood.
You call 9-1-1
and say there's been
an accident.
Someone's fallen
down the stairs,
don't mention
the pool of blood.
An accident?
(you let that slip out)
All you see are a body,
some blood,
and a set of stairs.
Maybe she was pushed.
Maybe she threw herself
down the stairs.
Maybe she was brought there.
You see a body you recognize,
you see stairs
and immediately a story
takes shape.
Like when you see a piano,
rows of black and white keys,
you put them in order
in your mind,
think musical notes ascending
and descending,
start hearing a familiar song
in your head.
You see stairs
think up and down,
think stories,
and fill in the blanks
to the 9-1-1 operator;
Her body is pale,
cold to the touch
and you remember
what it felt like warm.
Blood is sticky.
You say, send help, please,
give your address, please,
you say, she's not breathing,
send help soon
please,
and hang up.
The newspaper will write
'found dead'.
They will never know
what you know.
You will say only
what you've already said,
please, send help,
please,
because you know
when called they come.
They will climb the stairs
with their questions
collect evidence
they will construct
a plausible story
a theory of the case
to convince the jury
to get the verdict
they want,
they will say
what you are capable of,
assemble witnesses to testify,
to cast doubt on your love,
your story
and you're prepared for it.
5 comments:
Wooow, wasn't expecting this one! Reminds me of a Robert Browning dramatic monologue ... or something by Edgar Allen Poe! I am hoping that this a product of your fertile imagination, and not in any way based on reality!? Powerful poem ... may be one of the best you have written, in my humble opinion.
Did you not receive my comments from last week??
I really like this poem ... I think it's one of your best!
I missed your earlier comment until just now. Well, thank you. So kind. Please tell me what it’s about. I struggled with it. Wasn’t even going to post it because I felt it got away from me. But something said, no go ahead, there’s something here. But honestly I’m not sure what.
It start off as an innocent bystander reporting an accident. But it seems to morph into a confession, maybe even an alibi. Did he commit the murder himself? It's eerily unclear. Maybe the narrator is just imagining himself committing the crime, or maybe he's just nuts, like the narrator of "The Tell-Tale Heart". That it's all open to interpretation and conjecture is, I think, something of an achievement!
Thanks Kelp. I'll go with what you say. An open-ended poem about interpretation and conjecture. I'm pretty sure he did the dirty deed. But we'll never know for sure, because he rarely admits the truth, not even to himself! You can make up your own mind about it/ him.
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