How has your heart not split in half?
Lip service ceased being enough long
ago, but here’s one more given yet another pass.
Questions yawn between us like a pass,
the room made chill, divided into your half
and mine. The desolate gap is too long.
This is it, right? It won’t be long,
it can’t, until we can walk tall again, pass
through, no longer bent, as if against the wind, in half—
We’re long past giving that a pass, so stand tall: this half of sky is still ours.
(a tritina with words pulled from the fiction challenge prompt)
It’s only cool enough to walk come sunset,
mosquitoes buzzing tinny like the wires
overhead. Evading thorns, we pluck berries
from summer-warmed vines. Peaches, these blackberries,
and the strawberries picked out back at sunset –
they drip summer taste, sweet as sun, sharp as wires.
I thread each tart-sweet memory on wires
like beads: each velvet peach, the ruby berries,
even the whining mosquitoes at sunset.
Come autumn rains, each sunset strung on wires
Will wreathe remembered warmth, sweetness, and berries.
A tritina, my first.