A TUESDAY IN NOVEMBER

BY MEGAN VANNICE

cherry wine sat spilled on the kitchen counter    an

aroma of old curtains traveled the room in a dance

of fallen dust     playing with the sunlight bleeding

in through the window    you swore every time you

press your fingers on the piano keys,        they play

prelude in e minor     i don’t know what that means

 i didn’t tell you that       we spent two hours laying in

bed, saying nothing; just watching the wind blowing

dead leaves off of dying trees         that’s how i knew

you weren’t the one       how can someone just     sit

and watch pretty things die and say nothing        but i

did it too    maybe i’m a hypocrite but i don’t love you.

 

                                                             

LACE MAGxComment