Untitled (Ophelia)
after Gregory Crewdson
Soon the water takes everything.
Even the pink sweater dangling
precarious above the deluge.
The forgotten slippers on the stairs.
After all, madness is the best seduction.
She was never lovelier than when she threw
dishes from windows and cried in the shower.
Ripped entire sheets of violet wallpaper
from the dining room walls.
There were simply too many windows
and in all the wrong places. Daily, a squall
beneath the couch that threatened to overturn her.
And isn't everything a death scene, really?
Washing her hair? Picking up the phone?
Eventually him gone back
to his books and records.
Her, with her bottle of aspirin.
Her paperback romance.
All these rooms inside her
with their terrible carpet,
filling up one by one.
.
