Friday, February 7, 2014

A Poem by Shawn Aveningo

black widows & divorce

tiny teeth, sneaky even.
pain so slow to announce its arrival,
it wasn't until days later
           a palpitation, a tightening,
           an ache that rode in like a surfer
           catching the final wave,
did I realize something
           was wrong.

twenty four years is a long time.
I guess I needed more Bactine
            to continue to numb the sting,
or valium.

they say she's territorial,
waits patiently for her prey.
but her mark
            undeniably sinister
a permanent scar.

eventually the skin toughens.
that final wave goodbye
doesn't cut
            the flesh
nearly as deep as you thought
it would.

Shawn Aveningo is an internationally published multi-award-winning poet who founded the Verse on the Vine poetry show.  She has authored five poetry books and has performed in San Francisco, Seattle, Portland, Sausalito, Sacramento and St. Louis.  Her work has been published in over 50 anthologies, literary journals and e-zines, includinge Pirene's Fountain, Nefarious Ballerina, Convergence, Poetry now, Tule Review, and Haunted Waters Press Quarterly.  She's a Show-Me girl from Missouri, a Summa Cum Laude graduate from University of Maryland and a very proud mother of three.  And she absolutely loves shoes -- red ones! (

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