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Matriarch

Jean Wickham

 

There was steam
In the house
When I returned
I could feel it

Falling off
Sharp movements
Smooth
Percise
Resonating fury
Shredding the still air
Like paper
Intentions vibrating
As jagged noises
Breaking
The stiff silence
Penetrating
My shell of seclusion
Illusion of security

All death threats.