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Literature Text
Maybe it was
the stark contrast of your tanned skin
under my thin, pale fingers
like endless stretches of bone
against the dusky clay earth.
Maybe it was
the dark black night
stretched out over our heads
the blank expanse of chalkboard
and the art of starry skies.
Maybe it was
the gingham dress
that found your hands caught
around my hips and
your lips tangled up
in my lips.
Maybe it was
the loneliness.
Maybe I don't know
why you drew that flower for me
on my father's chalkboard
from the restaurant he used to have.
Alright, I admit it.
It's more of an onion. Just
a bulb with a little more substance.
An embellishment here, a leaf
or two there;
It hasn't bloomed yet. But
I know, that onion
is just like me - neither of us
has bloomed yet.
But in your hands
We Will.
the stark contrast of your tanned skin
under my thin, pale fingers
like endless stretches of bone
against the dusky clay earth.
Maybe it was
the dark black night
stretched out over our heads
the blank expanse of chalkboard
and the art of starry skies.
Maybe it was
the gingham dress
that found your hands caught
around my hips and
your lips tangled up
in my lips.
Maybe it was
the loneliness.
Maybe I don't know
why you drew that flower for me
on my father's chalkboard
from the restaurant he used to have.
Alright, I admit it.
It's more of an onion. Just
a bulb with a little more substance.
An embellishment here, a leaf
or two there;
It hasn't bloomed yet. But
I know, that onion
is just like me - neither of us
has bloomed yet.
But in your hands
We Will.
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A poem I wrote for Stephen, my love.
Two weeks ago he came to my dad's house and while he waited for me to finish up what I was doing online, he doodled something on my father's blackboard. I didn't notice it until the nest morning, but it was a bulb (of some kind) in the soil, just ready to bloom.
Looking back I just realised he probably recalled the Paperwhite bulbs in the kitchen and drew them from memory. Still, I was in a silly mood and blurted out "He drew me an onion?!"
That is the most beautiful onion I've ever seen.
Thank you, Steve.
Two weeks ago he came to my dad's house and while he waited for me to finish up what I was doing online, he doodled something on my father's blackboard. I didn't notice it until the nest morning, but it was a bulb (of some kind) in the soil, just ready to bloom.
Looking back I just realised he probably recalled the Paperwhite bulbs in the kitchen and drew them from memory. Still, I was in a silly mood and blurted out "He drew me an onion?!"
That is the most beautiful onion I've ever seen.
Thank you, Steve.
© 2006 - 2024 wiccakitten
Comments6
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It's beautiful, Kate. Sincere and thoughtful. Your words flow wonderfully, like the gentle cascade of water. I love the images you painted: the chalkboard; bone against clay earth; the bulb... It's real to me as is it to you. Keep on writing. 