“Hell is empty and all the devils are here”
William Shakespeare, The Tempest
The first time I heard his voice in my ear, I thought
he was only a whiny mosquito.
When I saw the old-bearded man smile, I thought
the myths wrote him all wrong.
He called me to his table, said Come play with us.
Bring your checkerboard
When I arrived, everyone played cards. He laughed
a loud Baritone, Did you know
We’re cousins? We share the same blood. My hands shook.
He shuffled me a deck.
I learned to play a cruel game. He took the form
of a plump-faced girl with a wolf laugh.
She blew out a cloud of gray smoke, I tried to say no
through my petrified jaw. But I was silence.
I walked out of the haze, followed the river
Still, felt a hand
against my mouth every time I tried to speak.
At night, I came to rest
against the trunk of an oak. I placed my fingers
over my throat
my soundless mouth. The crickets gathered to sing
with their wings.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 24, Issue 2.
Marcene Gandolfo’s poems have been published recently in Bellingham Review, Rhino, and Poet Lore. In 2014, her debut book, Angles of Departure, won Foreword Reviews’ Silver Award in Poetry.
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