encouched
by Wm. Rike on February 06, 2007
You with a black bowl, me
with one white, we
ate old chili in silence.
Cats crashed around room’s edge
like intrusive stage hands.
Metal against stoneware clinked
as the sink steadily dripped
and the furnace roared numbly
beneath cold floorboards.
A train lowed in the distance,
chewing through a ball-gag
of falling snow.
I parted my lips to speak,
but the thought had passed.
This post has been viewed (on this page) 452 times .
PEN World Voices Festival at MetaxuCafé
Related Discussions
Comments
Page 1 of 1 pages of comments
Commenting is not available in this weblog entry.
Very nice. Love the imagery, and the way it built to a story of a relationship.
– susan (02/06 at 6-Feb 19:13 -05:00)