1.2 KiB
%title Poetry challenges
July 1, 2024 — No verbs
''' A road trip. A dome of stress within the car, and golden fields without. A hotel room. Quiet, dark, cold against the heat, floor to ceiling blackout curtains. Riverbend Ponds. A lace of trails and lakes, more than enough reflections of sunsets. A return drive. Twice the stress, golden fields again, all two days earlier than expected.
A husband (supposedly) in a recliner (his) in the living room (ours?) in a house (mortgage: $3,106 a month).
“Concert tomorrow.” Lazy. Flat affect. Quotidian.
Sunday. The next day. Estimated time of return: mid-morning.
Monday. Silence. Lots of friends down there.
Tuesday. Silence. Worried...
Wednesday. Phone call. New time of return: never.
A wife (on a technicality) on the lawn (hers?) out back (quietly) in shock (tears: not just yet).
A house. Silent and aging, rotting deck boards, and a dog with searching eyes. A locked door. The key — a hex wrench, black, slender — now a decoration of junk drawers. A bedroom. An echoing expanse of empty walls, and golden fields of bare carpet. A woman. Quiet, dark, cold against the heat, hidden behind floor to ceiling blackout curtains. '''