Aug 11
poem challenge: Writing 2022
cwreen's picture


I scratch the white picket fence while I 
wait for him. I count the seconds 
between my heartbeats 
as my eyes scan over rolling hills 
trying to pick up the sputtering of an
engine. I belong to a dream, 
where the crumbling farm down the road bears 
no mind to the roars of change 
lying beyond the waves of silence in this small town. 
Vines wrap around my veins &
thorns prick at my heart as I hear his shouts. Congested
intersections and neon bulbs differ 
from the rural landscapes here. I remember his body
pressed against mine, his voice joining the screams
of the others in the packed streets. His 1975 Chevrolet comes closer to me
as I recall our last encounter. He doesn’t understand how strange it is for
to leave.
Maybe he thinks my escape is natural, the most usual thing
to happen to a naïve, small girl like me who has been exposed
to hunger and the cravings of desire. Maybe he doesn’t care
for the inner workings of a girl who is scared about leaving
the comfort of toothless grins and strawberry-stained overalls. I enter
his car without looking at him, knowing that his stubble and hollow words
will remind me of the unscarred flesh on my body. No words are exchanged, but I
place a hand over my heart for the loss of
the soul of a girl.  

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