Jack by B. Lynne Zika

He must have stood there

breathing into the dark

breathing the dark

the click of safety a moment behind him

as the door latch of his own room

settled into place.

That first breath

after the kill,

the moment alone in his room

undetected

when the sweetness of the girl’s blood

still clung to his waistcoat,

his trousers,

his hands,

that first breath a metallurgy

of the crown he would wear,

by God, which no one would rival.

It was the exhalation which decided.

Another man would have reached

to light the lamp

and trim the wick,

crossed the room

to pull or raise the shade,

gaslight from the street below

casting oily shadows

and the night smudge echoed

in the copper’s feeble glow.

Instead Jack tasted his fingertips

and left the lamp alone.

B. Lynne Zika’s photography, nonfiction, and poetry have appeared in numerous literary and consumer publications. 2022 publications include Delta Poetry Review, Backchannels, Poesy, Suburban Witchcraft, and The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. In addition to editing poetry and nonfiction, she worked as a closed-captioning editor for the deaf and hard-of-hearing. Awards include: Pacificus Foundation Literary Award in short fiction, Little Sister Award and Moon Prize in poetry, and Viewbug 2020 and 2021Top Creator Awards in photography. Website: https://artsawry.com/.

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