a Wolf’s Lamb

Mushy stands in front of a mirror
contemplating the dress she wears
its charcoal black collar
bites at her neck
perfect for a funeral
her heart flutters around
inside of her body
loose – free – exposed
she feels sick
she yearns for a remedy
to steady her trembling hands
she takes a long sip of whiskey
her Grandmother’s favourite
and smashes a cigarette into an empty can
before departing M wipes a single tear from her cheek
she whispers
knowing this will be the last time
she can say it out loud
                             in a photograph next to the stiff remains of a once living human
a cracked smile masks
a woman’s flaked makeup
and brittle bones
brittle herself M can’t bear to look at either
finding solace in condolences and bad coffee
she tunes out
radio silence
for moments that seem like years
until a Jolt brings her
a face too close to M’s
familiar – estranged – ineffable
dashed with tears and creased eyebrows
that denote sympathy
yet can’t be trusted
weary like the prey of a wolf
M stiffs out a hidden motive
to strike when a Lamb is wounded
the Wolf’s finishing move
a hug
the warm embodiment of love
ignites memories of bathtubs
and sweet caramel hands
it works
the prey has been caught
perhaps this time she will be kept
not as a trophy
but as a pet
so she can enjoy tantalizing treats
and an epic distraction from the ache in her heart.

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