Sick Like An Ocean ~by Abigail Elizabeth Wyatt

First you drew it from its case

and its inner black shroud.

Then you fondled it

as if it were a kitten.


There was little light that day

but I clearly remember

how your brown eyes

softened and shone.


Then you held it to your cheek

a long thoughtful while

before the dead metal

bit into my orbit.


With a crack and  flash

I fell forward in a heap

like a doll whose button

eyes no longer see.


There was darkness, darkness,

then a sharp, white light.

No blood but I was sick

like an ocean.


I did not know then

how the squeezing

of a trigger might

scar the inner eye.


I was swept away.

You were distant ashore.

I thought I saw

you smiling.


I never told anyone

the truth of what you did.

The truth of it lies

still behind my eyes.


About Abigaile Wyatt

In a former life I was a teacher of English and English Literature in a large comprehensive. Now, praise be, I am a writer. I write mainly poetry and short fiction. This makes me very, very happy. Even better, over the ten years that have passed since I first began to submit my work, my poems and short stories, together with some flash fiction piece, have appeared in more than a hundred magazines, journals and anthologies. I am grateful to every single editor that has ever set me an acceptance. I get plenty of rejection emails too, of course, but that, as they say, comes with the territory. When a piece is rejected the only thing to do is grit your teeth and send it out again. I live with my partner and my little dog, Percy Dog Esq. in the lovely coastal town of Penzance. My partner is a talented singer-songwriter. Sometimes we perform together, poetry and original music. Then we are known as The Fool and the Liar.

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