My Carmilla
by Marta Santillo
I toss and turn, the bedsheets heavy on my skin.
I toss and turn, waiting for her to visit me.
I toss and turn, I left a light in the corridor.
I toss and turn, what if I look outside the window?
As I get up, I put my white slippers on,
it’s colder in my room
without her layer of dark hair covering my body.
As I get up, I put my silk dressing gown on,
It’s colder in my room
Without her layer of fingerprints all over my body.
It is still dark in the square
Just the street lamp
Illuminating the empty buildings around us.
It is still dark in the square
Just her red fedora hat
Colouring the empty buildings around us.
I open the window, my mouth is dry
I can’t remember what name I call her by.
I open the window, the air is so dry.
I can’t remember the name she calls me by.
She looks at me,
Our eyes lock,
Please climb the stairs along the dark corridor, once more.
She looks at me,
Our lips lock.
Please climb the bed in the dark bedroom, once more.
Are you really here?
My neck exposed to your cold bite.
Are you really here?
My soul exposed to your cold bite.
Are you really here?
I am back under the heavy bedsheets.
I toss and turn,
The white slippers under my bed.
The window is open
While you wait in the square.
You never look at me,
You never climb those stairs,
Leaving my neck
Longing for your cold bite.
Slowly you walk away,
The sun unraveling from the hills afar.
The street lamp turns off
And I finally fall asleep.
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Marta Santillo writes prose poetry inspired by Latin American Magic Realism.
Marta is a regular participant at Didcot Writers, check out her previous Reader’s Choice, Will it be me?
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Our Reader said:
The repetition in the poem creates a restless rhythm that allows the audience to feel the chilling cold of the woman that haunts the main character.
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