Angela Segredaki

Unmade
 
The garbage truck came early. Two men in gray
lifted our old bed to join all that has gone
I watched it rise, then break. Its spine gave way –
the steel teeth closed; the morning carried on.
 
This was the bed where I once stitched your name 
with silver thread on white linen sheets;
and marked the date we met upon its frame 
where we lay reading Lamia by Keats.
 
The headboard heard our promises at night
the timber kept the record, grain by grain
the varnish crazed; the surface once so bright
then darkened like resin after rain.
 
A button fell and rolled beside my feet,
hidden in the fraying seams we did not see.
The garbage truck moved down the waking street
and crushed all that remained of you and me.

Angela Segredaki holds a Creating Writing degree from Oxford University and loves poetry, flowers, and people. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Blue Unicorn, The Ekphrastic Review, New Lyre, Amsterdam Quarterly, Mouthful of Salt, The Adelaide Literary Magazine, Lighten Up Online, The Dawntreader, Snakeskin, The HyperTexts, various anthologies and elsewhere.