We will remember
the way the summer grass broke
like ice fingers
under the weight
of my uncle's latest expectation.
Even the creek knew,
ran away during the night,
when the crows grew silent.
My cousin's best friend, Dinni,
had her tongue inside my mouth,
finding hidden spiders with her fingertips
along my naked back,
the very moment
Uncle Dismas had his personal awakening
at the end of a rope.
Every time I think of Dinni,
it is late at night
and I don't have to see the brown grass, anymore -
three years we tried to pretend
we could be lovers
and the whole time
we were at the end of a rope.
Adding your comment:
Conversational, with still the perfect punch of yummy imagery. She'd be proud (if she ever bothered to be online these days... ahem...)
