Hell is the Heart
by Alexander Etheridge
We know how each moment
can shred us,
and that our hungriest
enemy is
down inside us,
behind veils of blood.
Hell is
our shadow.
Hell is drowning
in snow,
or being cut by
the fingernail moon.
Our suffering
is feeling our suffering
won’t end.
Hell is pain
with no light--
Loss after loss,
a grinding in
the soul
like a wasting disease,
or tiny razors
in our cells.
Hell is a frostbitten
bedroom, or a fire
in a baby crib--
It’s a turned back,
or a cold
hand. Hell
is you and I
sentenced to
the dark life, the only one
we’ve ever known.
can shred us,
and that our hungriest
enemy is
down inside us,
behind veils of blood.
Hell is
our shadow.
Hell is drowning
in snow,
or being cut by
the fingernail moon.
Our suffering
is feeling our suffering
won’t end.
Hell is pain
with no light--
Loss after loss,
a grinding in
the soul
like a wasting disease,
or tiny razors
in our cells.
Hell is a frostbitten
bedroom, or a fire
in a baby crib--
It’s a turned back,
or a cold
hand. Hell
is you and I
sentenced to
the dark life, the only one
we’ve ever known.
Alexander Etheridge's poems have been featured in The Potomac Review, Museum of Americana, Welter Journal, The Cafe Review, Abridged Magazine, Susurrus Magazine, The Journal, and many others. He was the winner of the Struck Match Poetry Prize in 1999. He is the author of God Said Fire, Snowfire, and Home.