Old Strings and Elbows
some may lean towards his words
as if he is master,
but i know, yes, i have learned
the hard way. i will cut my losses.
i could be wrong, but perhaps my time
of mourning was a short one,
this haphazard landscape of falsehood
as his lies become, his truth.
some say i deserve better,
gentlemen callers say- "if only"
i say, i have done my time.
yes, i have been broken,
but i was not in line for love; toe to toe,
i will buy a ticket to the upper midwest
and snap his fingerbones
to the sound of goodbye.
An Author's Recollection
buried stone-smooth, i have been told
that i am a nothinghead, hopeless.
with palms-flat against
desert walls, i have been split to red
by strongfist and hate.
i am not a writer, he once said,
but a bitch.
maybe he was right---
-------just another painted woman
across his chest
as he put my coin in the jukebox
and called out her name.
Cherilyn Ferroggiaro is an italian brat from Sonoma, California. She currently
studying to become a Physician's Assistant and enjoys photography.
Cherilyn has appeared in a variety of poetry journals, both online and in print. Her
most recent publications include Reflections, Meeting of the Minds, Tapestries, The
Baroque Review, Poems Niendergasse, 63 Channels, Rustlings in the Wind, a
contributing editor for the Regal Quill Quarterly, Tamafyhr Mountain Poetry, Thunder
Sandwhich, Melic Review and Babel Magazine.
© 2003 Underground Voices