Volume V, Issue 1 - Winter 2006 - "Memory"

Poets: Rachel Mallino

Guilty In Six Minutes

10 years pass like the slip of key
into a lock, the door swings broad

and I return, easy in this familiar kitchen
where your mother speaks in southern slang

as we chat over coffee.
Im a woman now, eyes and hips full

as my memories; your mother eases
into hers and I chase those words--

"the jury returned in six minutes,
said he was guilty."

--they bounce off wooden floors
like a childs runaway ball.

"At fifteen he dirtied his fingernails
with skin of a man he murdered.

Then he packed his bags, crawled
into our bed and whispered

how much he loved it there."

I draw in country air as it turns
to cinder, nose hair burns

and I look out the window towards
the dusty road you and I once

kicked rocks down, we were fifteen
holding hands when you admitted

why you couldnt sleep. So, you warmed
your sheets at night, stroked my hair

when my skin hung low off bones,
black circles branded my eyes.

10 years later, they unlock wrists
from behind your back

you mouth my name, reach long
for my hair, and remember fifteen.

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