She hovers light as bird in a nest. Yet her feet are lead, tangled in history of hurts and twigs of betrayals. It has been 3 years now, but tonight when the moon glints coppery red, the past recoils like black tide shrouding her vision. She can hear the whiplash of his words, like a storm circling overhead. The hard fist of his hands, gnawing fear in her chest.
Slowly, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as if to rid of acid-laced memories. Outside, the wind rattles crushed soda cans on the streets, sweeping them like lost feathers. She thinks of leaving the city and starting a new life somewhere. A place to call her own with a small garden. Sinking deep into sleep, she hears the ticking of the clock. Every second reverberates, as echoes of gunshots. As heartbeats of runaway prey.
red maple leaves
blanket rose-less garden,
night is tinderbox
"Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream." - Quote from Kahil Gibran
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday - The prompt is open all week, so come and join us! Thanks for the visit ~
