It's Still Life

The Noir Harvest

When a river rises
you can’t see what’s underneath.
She didn’t see the change,
and couldn’t remember when
his tone turned,
as if his every word
was pointed as a wood splinter.
He breathed between each word,
punctuating punches,
rapid, spittled, as if drowning in
his own skin.
And he was
too close to her face,
his lungs like gills gulping
up the air that she needed
to survive.
She could live without him.
She could survive without him.
He grabbed her wrist,
pressure building into
her fingertips.

Two combine harvesters worked
in the field all through the night.
The summer air smelled the way
Taj Mahal looks by moonlight.
She never reported him missing.

Written for Day 24: Film Noir Similes including the phrase “smelled the way the Taj Mahal looks by moonlight” by Raymond Chandler. Image is from the movie Gaslight 1944 ( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaslight_(1944_film),) Charles Boyer and Ingrid Bergman  ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #glopowrimo #napowrimo on Twitter