The End of a Frayed Rope

A thunderstorm broods overhead
As an ice cream truck goes by.
It does a pirouette on the cul-de-sac
And rolls on off out of sight.

And you say you want a snow cone
But I say you’re getting fat;
Besides, the truck’s gone until tomorrow.
You don’t say much after that.

Still there’s a moment in that silence

When the orange clouds darken to gray,

And the lightning growls in displeasure

At the darkness withholding the day.

Now the air is sticky amber
And my breath struggles into its trap.
Now your black hair falls in ribbons
And ashen leaves stick to it like sap.

You say the trees are crying for water
But I say the whole yard is already dead.
You never much believed in endings
So you tore them out of books you’ve read.

 

And the rosebush beside us is shivering,

Though the heat lingers thick in the gloom,

Because it sees no promise of morning

Nor of any sweet, final bloom.

Author's Note

12/14/12 - Revised

Reviews

[Lina Grey]

"You never much believed in endings
So you tore them out of books you’ve read."
I love those lines, just the concept of them. I love all the images you've conjured, the tone of this. The style is a bit unusual, compared to what I usually read, but I like it. This is incredible hun.