Jim Everhard

 

I am the vault behind the fireplace
that hasn’t been opened in years,
where the family curse sleeps
in stifled air, wrinkled by cobwebs.
I am the warm, staggered breath
that breaks loose from nowhere,
opens the squeaking door,
and blows every fuse in the house,
leaving you petrified in the dark.
I am the wind that sounds
like the drooling creature
trying to break in the back door.
I am the trench coat and muddy shoes
that leave footprints
in the most conspicuous places.
I am the brooding brother
who returns after years of travel,
only to hang himself in the shower
leaving a trunk of half finished poems
all titled: “Miriam”.
I am the eyes you feel
staring from outside a window
as the rain blurs the glass.
I am the lover who frightens you
back into yourself,
where I wait like a gentle monster
for the kiss that will make me human.  

 

Jim Everhard is the author of a book of poems, Cute (1982). He grew up in Northern Virginia, served in the US Navy from 1966 to 1970, and spent the next eleven years working on a Bachelor of Arts degree in English Literature from George Mason University. He lived in Dupont Circle, Washington D.C. through the 1980s, until his early death from AIDS in 1986.