Split

Ending it all in nineteen syllables,
She shut the empty drawer with a black crack.
Piercing the air behind her like a stake,
Its echo sticks through all my memories.

The drawer now bears the scar of our regret:
A short, dark crack, a parted, silenced mouth.
The dresser swallows its dull, grudging scrape,
The drawer's protest ... what do I hope to find?
My whispers dive into my hollow heart,
But cannot bounce or hang on anything.

The End

26 comments about this poem Feed