Fence

Courtney LeBlanc

You came back to tear down
the fence –
it was half-falling, rotted,
a danger.

I thought it safe to go to work,
to leave you
to the physical labor,
to trust you
wouldn’t repeat previous mistakes.

When I returned home
the fence was gone, a pile
of rotten wood lay
heaped in the backyard.

In the bedroom I found
my journal left open
to the page you found
most offensive.
You’d scrawled SLUT
across the page
in large red letters.

I wondered where you’d
found the red pen
or if you’d taken to carrying
one with you should the
opportunity to shame me
present itself.

I paid a friend to haul
away the warped wood
and build a new fence,
the smell of sawdust
filling my yard for days.

I changed the locks on my doors,
wrote in my journal
each night, hopped the fence
would keep me safe.

Courtney LeBlanc is the author of chapbooks Siamese Sisters and All in the Family (Bottlecap Press). Her poetry is published or forthcoming in Public Pool, Rising Phoenix Review, The Legendary, Germ Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Brain Mill Press, and others. She loves nail polish, wine, and tattoos. Read her blog at www.wordperv.com, follow her on twitter: www.twitter.com/wordperv, or find her on facebook: www.facebook.com/poetry.CourtneyLeBlanc.
read more from Courtney LeBlanc: The Next Morning