by Martha Ellen Johnson
Puppet
By accident I saw him
standing on the corner
by the Post Office
known to many as
the mild-mannered,
upstanding citizen
out for his morning walk.
I ran from him long ago,
on the last day, when he
forgot to lock the door.
Today, he saw me as
I drove by. He paused.
He smiled that fake grin
menacing and chilling.
Meant to mesmerize,
disarm and charm. The
knowing smile a lost girl
mistook for care and safety,
when I was alone and
no one knew or cared.
“He looks like a puppet.
Run!” I whispered to myself,
I drove home slowly,
in the familiar, comforting,
dissociated fugue state.
Even so, dread broke through.
All day and into the night
I could not quell the rising fear.
Checked all the locks and
pulled the shades. Blocked
the front door with a chair.
Smoked weed.The terror swelled
until it owned me as before.
When we were first together
I learned to cry without
a sound, to survive, to freeze,
when behind locked doors
he raged and pushed my face
into the floor delighted with
the panic in my eyes that fed
the beast. Don’t move a muscle.
At home, upstairs in the back
of the closet, I crouched beneath
the clothes and hid under
a blanket diminished into a small,
insignificant ghost. Heart pounding.
Silent. He may not find me. I was
gone. I wondered if the sound
of my breathing was too loud.
The Puppet was gone, too.
He had returned to his place
on Bond, flicked on the TV,
microwaved a can of chili,
flopped down in his easy chair
enjoying a peaceful afternoon,
another silent girl no one knew
secretly ensconced in a back room.
Bridal Illusion
Bridal illusion is a soft
mesh net fabric
often used for veils
or layered over opaque
cloth to create an
ethereal effect. Illusions
are peaceful places.
She preferred living there.
All rough edges
are softened. Even the barbs
from the few spearheads
that do penetrate, dissolve;
and the spear can be
easily removed
leaving only a tiny speck
indicating where the puncture
had been. No pain
whatsoever. In illusion,
all flatware is sterling,
all Christmases, gilded,
all china, Limoges.
The plans to smother her
one Autumn day
in the deserted
Forest Preserve in northern
Illinois, on the uphill
footpath, by holding
his palm over her mouth
and nose, and then
sliding their infant
under the surface
of the nearby river
until he drifted
away, are thwarted
only by the muted
sounds of distant voices
were misunderstandings.
Later, she thought
the sideboard too
angular. She wrapped
it in illusion.
Looked better that way.
*first published in Hot Potato Magazine May 2024
The Attempted Murder of Rivals
Dad
threw me away
to save
my life.
I did not know.
you are nothing martha - you are worthless martha - you are garbage - rot rises from inside - you are ugly - no one loves you - no one will love you - you are nothing - you’re
nothing - nothing - nothin’ - not
a thing - nada - nuttin’ - nope
no. Repeat. Surrender.
Believe. Peaceful
drift.
Phantom. No more
words. Far away.
Hovering. Go through
the motions. No resistance.
Accept all assaults. I seek
abuse. Stranger, use
my body. Monster,
devour my soul.
Still no pain. I
smile.
I stop eating
give away my
clothes. burn my
paintings shred
my poems. Waiting.
Waiting. Waiting.
Soon.
Why does
it take
…….. so
long?
My sister next.
[Mom would be
the only one.]
She ran ……….
to me! help me - help me - help
me - help …….
me. She appears. An
apparition. I reach
out. Hand in hand. Me
and her. Crying. Laughing.
Goofing off. Coffee
and and and and
and
Dad
threw us away
to save
our lives.
We knew.
*first published in WELL READ May 2024