"Ode to the Left Organ" by Samantha Renee Ratcliffe

Hope you're enjoying the weather, a blessing to share the time and this work with you today. Samantha is so multi-talented that it's lowkey insane. Check her out! Missed last week? See it here.

Submit some work today! We'd love for you to be a dog too! Follow us on Bluesky and Instagram! All love, always. Thanks for supporting us and we hope you enjoy your stay in the yard.

Ode to the Left Organ

Bereft.

Hugged artifact in thrown away swiss roll

of old carpet. Married ground thread pile of warp

and weft and organ backbone. Curl of lost map,

past tenant footpath of my old duplex

where I paid $550 dollars for five whole years

and on the last day destroyed a Hammond organ with a hatchet

without anyone finding out. Once occupied by sound

now carpet of flat keys, splinters of silent memento.

One long conch shell of divorce waiting to be exhumed.

Dear betrayed housemate, I carry this spontaneous crime.

Even now, I think— I had a truck.

I could have found a man for us.

Women have been head porters for centuries

but I couldn’t even spare the mind to save her.

Makeshift ramp her, elbow grease and hip bump her

into the cargo bed, back to the Goodwill from which she came.

I wasn’t getting my security deposit. The least I could have done was leave

her alone in the living room like I had the whole time we were together.

Twice a week now I think of how knife tip cracked her spine,

hinges and layers of wood released like slated fingers flowering

to reveal a decommissioned robot brain. Woofers like ear drums,

bony labyrinths where fear hums so long. Alone in an empty house I dismantled

cochlea motherboards, her red and blue vestibule wiring. Gathered

keys like tiny bones I considered saving for earrings and art.

Splayed murder and me, a musician, spoiled as an apostate kneeling

at the altar one last time. The sun set in silence while I chopped her down

to wood in the dark. Raised her pedalboard ribcage with bloodied maid hands

above my head like a well done surgery. Bowtied trashbags everywhere.

I rubbed my fingers against the carpet— searching for evident strands,

her abandoned piano hair.

Samantha Renee Ratcliffe is a poet and songwriter from Kentucky. Her work appears in Yearling, Pegasus, White Wall Review, Untelling, as well as numerous Appalachian anthologies. Find out more about her writing community and reading series Hill Writers Collective at SamanathaRatcliffe.com 

Submit!