"But first, baby, as you climb and count the stairs (and they total the same), did you, sometime or somewhere, have a different idea?
Is this, baby, what you were born to feel, and do, and be?"

-Kenneth Fearing

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

The Last Word

The argument was over,
The one they couldn't exit,
although it had all been said.

He couldn't budge if he’d wanted to
couldn't hold forgiveness in his hand,
or pull peace from betrayal.

They were young and in love,
They were fierce and mean about it,
and it was too much for either, finally.

Over now, the buzzing that kept them
repeating, kept them from sleeping,
from feeling like going home.

They hoped it would break, the undertow,
break into waves and let them float
there, still, and take a breath.

She wanted to call out, but didn't.
She wanted to touch him, as if just this once
she could be Christ to his Lazarus,

but she knew that was only a story
and only then, what a terrible story.

His voice had turned to weight.

-Brent Allard