Strange Valentine

LE COEUR Coeur of the feme Torn from the body, Lying alone On the polished surface, Waxen and sterile. So small, so delicate This heart— Blanche, so white, Bruised, stained blue splotches. Where was the vibrant rouse? Le Sang Drained from it, Squeezed dry, sucked out, Quivering, the shell stood In the sunlight. The heart placed Alone on the shiny surface. Le Coeur signified More than the core. A Soul in Hell! A live body Walked with pain— Raw anguish, hurt Caused this display, Discarded in a fit of fury. A Lover, a Boy Friend? No, a would-be-Lover Spattered Le Sang Like wine. Wallowed in it! The Corps, decapitated, Dismembered, Hacked asunder, Severed every which way, Organs scattered. Cheryl was losing control. She would have to let it go—let God take over. She fell back waiting for sleep to overtake her. What was the matter with her? She intended on sifting through this, making sense of it. Anne—it couldn’t be—there must be some mistake! She would wake and discover this was all a bad dream. Anne would be downstairs making coffee—she drifted off. Walking, walking, she was… where was she going? Where was she? Who was she? Oh, over there—the water! Her feet were so heavy, they weighed a ton. It was warm, but she felt so cold. The tears tumbled down from her eyes and poured down her cheeks, dropping off her chin and falling onto her loose jacket and on down her jeans, falling into rivulets along the grass and into the river, upsetting its severe backward thrust. All things, the river caught and washed them clean. It let them ride far, far from home to lie unstained and cleansed along a far off bank. If she threw her clothes into the wooded area, they would think she had been raped and killed between the highway and the river. Her dead body would be proof. If she left her tennis here, just off the path, they would assume she had been caught off guard wading in the cool. She would have recognized too late her predicament. She would have been dragged off into the wood. They wouldn’t know for sure what had happened. They would find the clothes, the shoes early on. Her things would corroborate the crime. The tormentors would have thrown her dead, broken body into the river. But Chipper, you old fool, you had to come back, after you came home. You picked up the shoes and carried them to your lady. You could see her floating there her short hair amassing her head. When you ran and barked and howled, she didn’t come out. You left her there, the water carrying her way. You, Howling! Crazy you were. You didn’t know why. You kept running back and forth—up the path, through the woods to the highway and back again down to the water.