Coming Home, poem by Teisha Twomey

I reach below the sink, com­pare
the proofs of the bot­tles beneath.

Eighty is best and I pour the glass
half full, watch­ing the diet Coke turn gold,

beau­ti­ful as amber. I climb the stairs
the way I am use to, as a child tip­toe­ing

to my bed­room. I do not wake the man
in the mas­ter bed­room, his hands grip­ping

the bruised arms of his woman. I sleep
above the shot­gun my moth­er had hid­den

below my mat­tress and for­got­ten about long ago.
It waits there. No one sus­pects the room

with the uni­corn wall­pa­per. I am just vis­it­ing
tonight. I have this secret beneath the sur­face.

I try not to roll over. Some­thing might go off.
Teisha Twom­ey was raised in New Lebanon, NY. She grad­u­at­ed from MCLA in 2010. She is cur­rent­ly work­ing on her MFA in Poet­ry at Les­ley Uni­ver­si­ty in Cam­bridge, MA.

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4 Responses to Coming Home, poem by Teisha Twomey

  1. Mike Gromacki says:

    Ter­rif­ic! Always evokes fierce emo­tions.

  2. Michelle Lyle says:

    Gor­geous work.

  3. Jen Fitzgerald says:

    Haunt­ing poem, fab­u­lous poet.

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