Soundtrack To A Pause
There’s a cornered big cat
in my attic, snarling, lip-curled;
its guttural growl swallowed
at the back of its throat.
Nearby, the deadened thunk of a
skull, knocking persistently
against the skylight:
tick, tick, ticking, out the time.
Below, the flames lap the ceiling;
the paintwork blisters;
the house is drowning in fire, and
there’s a shriek of alarm.
Something is bubbling, liquid;
drenching and popping:
they have mixed flour in my blood,
and I am thickening.
On the stairs, there’s a snapping
and grating of bone against bone,
cartilage wearing thin;
footsteps on the hunt for a lost thought.
Doors slam in the distance,
there’s a jittery song trapped on an endless loop,
a clicking of reading glasses,
and the doctor says, Come in.
Mandy Schiffrin is half-British, half-Argentinian. She lives in the Netherlands, working in the field of Artificial Intelligence. She has recently had poetry accepted in the Black Nore Review , the Crowstep Journal, and in a couple of magazines (forthcoming).