a piece of shortbread

gareth

& sarah

 

sinclair

& lewis

 

small hometown grew up

where gasoline

 

wasn’t pumped on a sunday,

church folk attempted

 

to hymn

 

while a pastor man got annoyed

by a passing fly

 

choir sang to an untuned

piano,

 

fanned their faces with a

church newsletters

 

while sweat rolled down their

backs,

 

robes absorbed beads like

a paper towel

 

wiping up water off a

cast iron sink;

 

wood rolling pin laying out

butter and flour,

 

sugar waiting impatiently

for shortbread

 

smells roll out of a kitchen

window

 

breeze sneaks by to slap a

mother’s tired face

 

gareth & sarah’s homes separated

by a peeling fence,

 

pickets guard bent roses,

 

her mother presents her with

one shortbread cookie

 

they have a secret signal,

 

meet at a hole in the wood,

pickets quite

 

unaware,

 

she breaks warmth in half,

shares with a friend;

 

high school finished, two

separate trains,

 

love letters fall like old

leaves onto frost,

 

neither marry,

 

years later in a city scape

where people move,

 

lives and shadows stand

still

 

much like bent, unwatered

roses,

 

gareth sits on a chain that drapes

cement, entrance

 

to a park,

 

feels the chain move, looks,

sarah besides

 

a man selling roses has a

sale,

 

she, unwraps from wax paper

a recent purchase,

 

breaks warmth in half,

 

see each other as through a

hole in the wood,

 

tender kiss, a breeze stirred,

crystal blue in a sky

 

in the midst of a city

his arm encircles

 

her,

 

nothing longer to separate.

 

Copyright © 05/24/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

Image

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