Thursday, June 16, 2005

I see her silhouette in the sunset.
The kind of girl that likes
to dream without limits;
that reads books like
Shakespeare and Treasure Island,
always getting lost in that
wonderful fantasy world of hers.
I wish I could get lost too,
instead of standing so firm on cement,
my heart made of steel,
the gun in my hand,
a heavy, heavy feeling.
On Sunday mornings, and late yawning nights,
she likes to watch old cartoons,
like Duck Dodgers and Rocket Robin Hood,
they make her feel like a kid,
cosmically detached from the saddened world,
for a few hours,
as she crunches cereal out of the box,
and I crunch up the letters,
that I will never send,
to this girl,
the one who recites love poems
off the top of her head;
the one whose tears fall as sparks,
ignited by the fire in her soul.
The hours count down,
the minutes go by,
and I allow this harshened reality,
of my lost love,
to leave me.
And as I pull the trigger,
I gasp out in alarm,
as she opens the door,
her arms full of bags,
and her keys jangling from their awkward spot,
between her teeth.
My heart stops,
just as the brown bags fall from her arms,
and I hear a loud crash,
not knowing if it is me hitting the floor,
or her bags.
The last thing I hear is the sound of her soft sweet voice,
calling out my name,
and the jingle of her keys as they fall through the air.
I wonder distantly,
if she will miss her Sunday cartoons,
or maybe if she'll miss me.
Perhaps, I think,
I am buried somewhere in her heart,
like the treasure,
on Treasure Island.
I never did like that Hawkins kid.

3 Comments:

Blogger Unknown said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

10:48 AM  
Blogger Unknown said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

6:55 PM  
Blogger Carla Chanliau said...

*speechless*

this is so powerful.

6:31 AM  

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home