She begins to realize an alternate reality existed in the spaces between his hand and hers. In another day, in another life perhaps their fingers could have met clasped tight around the constant whispers and all the "what if"s.
creative writing
Boreal
poetryAs the light recedes into the horizon,
the north wind seep through
cracks in the window
and slits in the door.
My toes are cold
against the bedroom floor,
and I wonder when
my blood will unthaw,
and when
I might feel the light
once again.
Nocturne
poetry
Over time,
her mouth became
a string instrument
tightened with the tension
of constraining her words.
Measures between her laughs
and ivory smiles grew longer,
each beat of silence
lingering for just
a note too long.
More often than not,
tired sandpaper lids scrape
against the white expanse
of her eyes, exposing the
red vein strings
hiding beneath;
they turn the half note circles
below into shades
of a minor key.
At night,
her heart thrums to the rhythm
of a staccato symphony:
rising, rising, rising,
as if her conductor brain
commands it -
faster, faster, faster.
Frantic thoughts
create a polyphonic sound
of worry and dejection -
melodic harmonies to the
hasty trills within her
xylophone ribcage
These sounds echo
in the acoustics of her skull
like the clicks
of an
off
beat
metronome.
Prompt: “Write about a change you have noticed in your lifetime, but write only about the things that embody or illustrate this change. It might be a change you have noticed in a friendship, in the body of a loved one, in your hometown…” (Pagh 79)
