Death Leaves Something Behind (3 Poems) || by Lannie Stabile

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Death Leaves Something Behind 

I did not spend much time wondering why his coat was at your house,
only that it was dark and dripping from the fur-covered rocking chair.

I picked it up to brush it clean, batted the sleeves with shaky hands,
stirred the surplus of cat hair into the smoky air of your living room.

The wool irritated my skin, but I slipped the coat on anyway. 
A form of masochism I have never quite shed from childhood.

My nose wrinkled from the sweet scent of White Diamonds wafting 
from the fabric, and I was thankful the weight nor perfume fit me. 

But when I tucked my fists into its silk-lined pockets, I found 
crumpled tissues, as my own pockets often contained. A sign

that perhaps he was more considerate than I had originally thought,
and perhaps you had no choice but to invite him in for a last coffee.

I did not spend much time wondering why you let him into your house,
I only wondered how long before his knuckles rapped at my door. 


|||


It’s Late, and Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks Is Reopening Old Wounds

The redhead in the corner has no story unless I give her a story. She has no legs until I give her legs. She cannot speak before I say, Speak, and I will remove the predator beside you

It is 3am, and I have decided insomnia has brought her here. To this diner. To this white-cupped coffee and this blue-suited man. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees the harsh fluorescent light of the moon. She sees her mistake beneath it. 

Her cup is drained for the third time. She wears bloodshot eyes. To match her red dress. To match her hair and her fingernails. To her right, he flicks his cigarette ash onto the counter. I wish I could see both of his hands. 


|||


Depression, Anxiety, and Insomnia Walk into a Bar

Awkward and heavy luggage 
in the fist of an exhausted woman.

The woman is ragged, a bit lost.
Bearing witness dawn after dawn
to the shuttered breath 
of the last neighborhood light
will do that sometimes.

The woman does not order a drink
She sits at the bar
staring off, 
eyes glazing like a day-old donut. 
Crumbling like one too. 

When she started walking tonight,
she figured she’d end up at the diner
on Old Warren Road,
frowning into the wide, stained mouth
of a muddy cup of coffee.
Like she always does.

Instead, she is here, 
where everything is in different stages
of exposure: the brick walls,
the torn leather stools, 
the living, breathing sepia photograph
of a woman hollowing out
a complimentary bowl of cashews.

A tear hangs in the corner of her eye,
and she thinks of the streetlamp, 
how its neck sloped beautifully, 
how the light dangled, 
until it and the final shadow
disappeared.

Bartender pushes over a beverage napkin,
a small square of compassion, says, 
Me too, lady. Me too.

Image Credit: ©Deviant art


MEET THE AUTHOR:

LANNIE STABILE (she/her), a queer Detroiter, is the winner of OutWrite’s 2020 Chapbook Competition in Poetry; the winning chapbook, Strange Furniture, is out with Neon Hemlock Press. She is a back-to-back finalist for the Glass Chapbook Series and back-to-back semifinalist for the Button Poetry Chapbook Contest. Lannie currently holds the position of Managing Editor at Barren Magazine and is a member of the MMPR Collective. She was named a 2020 Best of the Net finalist. Her debut full-length, Good Morning to Everyone Except Men Who Name Their Dogs Zeus, is out now with Cephalopress.

Find her on Twitter @LannieStabile.

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