Racism Behind Doors

My eyes try to peer through the wood
Grasping for a glimpse
But knowing better that on the
other side it will be there
Waiting
It completely consumes my
brains every waking thought
Eating and nibbling away
at the mushy gray matter
Eventually making its way
down my hollow neck and
into my chest seizing control
of my muscles...
I have no choice
It will always be there
Waiting
There are no dark drawers
or ragged carpets for my
contorted body to crawl into
No dark masks or
white sheets with
unopened eye holes to
cover my large glass bowls
Nothing to shield my
wobbly mind from the
sink full of guts and
rotting flesh, cut to
ribbons by bone sharp
fragments of ceramic
Made pretty by hues
of blues and greens
There is no escape
It will always be there
Waiting
Soon I will join the flesh
in the sterling silver sink
bathing in stringy veins and
beating hearts
Plunging my hands in
congealed blood and
smearing it along the counter
Tracing its name over and over
Wishing it would
float from my lips
I spray the matter
down the drain
to rid myself of the
Washed out nightmare
Only to shiver with the
knowledge that tomorrow
It will be there
Waiting.

Tamara Wudinich