So there I stood on the
slope of dating someone
else, but not quite ready
to leave the sunset behind;
looking westwards towards
beauty yet silence, while
hearing voices of moving on
at my back – I heard it all,
I just wasn’t listening as
I stood still, baiting the
sun to move without my
noticing, hoping without
hope it’d see and shine
light on me once again.
It was the first cool night
this summer, with the wind
whispering to the trees about
ages ago – back when we would
be sitting on the porch trying
to count the promises that we
heard in the echoes alongside
the rose bushes; back when we
were wishing on fireflies for
fire pits, not second chances
or warm rebuttals. Even with
the haze on the horizon and
a promise of stars, it was
making me homesick for fall.
With an ounce of
temptation trapped
in the third to last kiss,
I saw a future cast
before my eyes of white
lace and black candlesticks,
walking down a strip to a
sunset morrow whispering
away the final days of
summer, laughing until
the stars could no longer
illuminate the sky, when I
was your bride and
everything else was lost in
the hobble of vows and words,
holding on until the second
to last brush of lips when
temptation had dissipated
with the heat of the rising sun;
those are the moments
trapped in ounces of memories
never to become undone.
The days this summer
are ticking away,
falling frail to new
anniversaries, and
bonfires scattering
about purple and blue
ashes of the past,
tenfold – relying
solely on memories to
carry the weight of what
was once forever,
swept up in embers,
forcibly cast away.
It’s here in those moments
when the light is breaking
through the blinds, hands
grabbing for every bit of
carpet to illuminate beyond
the beige fabrications of
when you and I laid there
sweet in slumber and kisses;
when the heat of the summer
hasn’t quite reached us yet,
oblivious in the shadows,
divulging our senses with
sweet lilacs from the
neighbor’s yard – blissfully
sneaking out to pick them in
the mid afternoon and it’s
in these moments that I
cherish that sweet loyalty –
just like the summer winds
will howl, the bushes will
sprout growth, and laughter
will fill the apartment
every time the sun reaches
our toes – you are there.
I went back to that pond in the park –
the platform of trees off to the South,
half a mile or so beyond the road
with the same family of geese circling
around the island, demanding to be heard.
There’s a little girl again, throwing
bread into the water, and screams of joy
into the air; such sweet innocent youth.
The mosquitoes are worse this time of year,
the grass growing taller here and there,
but dead to sun spots everywhere else.
We should have brought wine with us
last time – it’s refreshing in-between
the breezes that seem to rarely say hello.
I sat on the embankment to the North,
legs stretched out, close enough to hop
into the pond with only a tight jump.
We spoke of Colorado when we were here
last – planning out the next year
of the rest of our lives, beginning
with bon fires and whiskey this summer.
It’s not as warm here anymore, or
perhaps that’s just your absence.
The crickets are still chanting –
whether melancholy or desire, I’m
not aware, but it’s lovely all the same.
The sun is behind me, casting diamonds
in the ripples, pretending to be more
than just a little pond in the park –
things are always trying to appear
to be grander than what they are, and I
suppose that’s my own problem reflecting
itself at the bottom of a bottle of wine,
and too much exposure with the sun.
There’s a small frog croaking about
three and a half feet to the right of me –
if only you had seen him last time,
you could have befriended him, and saved
him from the ultimate fate that took
everything else away from here – if only.
I had gone to that pond again last weekend,
and I had seen that frog you were so eager
to catch, hopping about like life was grand.
I thought maybe you’d like to know.
It feels too early to be laughing –
a gentle crooning as the sun
is falling asleep, the bugs
singing chorus after chorus,
the songs of early summer.
This was your season, and my
laughter is hindering the
picture that I painted,
dreaming of these days –
you and I on the patio
with a few beers to our names,
counting down the hours
until the stars would appear,
simply because we had nothing
but time, just you and I.
But now we aren’t forever –
the crickets are mocking
in their mating calls,
the neighbors are whispering –
it isn’t fair that they
always loved you more.
Everyone loved you more, and
that was the problem, wasn’t it?
I can’t keep pretending that
I’m doing alright considering,
when I can’t even describe
the blazing heat of the
boulder that’s crashing down
on my chest every time
a spark of interest in a
memory of the two of us comes
screaming in, demanding to be heard.
No, this summer will be long;
with laughter evaporating
before it can even make
waves with the falling rain.
Storylines in Verse 