Tincture On A Shelf

You didn’t judge farewells all too well

Escaping duty without an explanation

When I ended us as clear as January ice

As final as hypothermic oblivion

You dropped off my earth like a mammoth in the new sun era

A faceless man without a map

Crippled by riddles hanging heavy

Over your horned, hooded brow

The mark of Cain, an air of dread

You’ll not ever acquire armistice under your flag

Your crowning breath will exhale a cutting, stale regret

Like a swelling carcinoma it nourishes off you now

Mushrooming, consuming your soul

While alone mothering our daughter

I breathe mercy while you slumber

Make amends, pick the balsam leaves

Ask forgiveness, apply the evergreen compress

In my home behind the kitchen hearth is a chamber

An ancient apothecary

Full of herbs gathered and dried, distilled since girlhood

Just for your signal of distress

There’s a tincture in a box on a shelf

Overlaid with dust and cobwebs