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3. Open Window
An open window threw up its pale curtains, indicating a space, that I had departed into. He was left in the attic, holding the sky in his palms, a sunlight wedge cutting his red jumper in half, like a neat apple. He stood by that dirty rage and clicked his jaw like a bear. Never follow a monster into its cave. There is little left of me now. My smile has stretched into blue serenity. Like an old dog's mouth will go long and lean, or like a black line, before he digs for a flea inside his ear. A late fall butterfly muttered on the wood of the pane, its oily heart and grey dust, lost from its wings. Even after all he had done to banish me, the tapping willow branch, could have been my defeated fingers, creeping back in. The situation of the open window, couldn't seem to end itself. The best thing, was when I made no sense to him anymore. |
