sofa
I've been brooding.
Somber as a silent bird.
Nested deep in a
chino cushion, red walls
surround me like a womb.
Sun-speckled arms of
mountain laurel fidget
impatiently
outside the window.
I've
been brooding.
Stewing in the pointless
words we bleated ear to ear
across
the wireless waves.
Promises, surfacing
and resurfacing
like corpus
delicti from the
bottom of Crescent Bay.
A soft hiss
of silence through
the plastic earpiece in our
hands. Make it or break it
pivotal
tones. A hush,
when what we needed was
an orchestra. You have one minute
remaining.
Rambling, ambling,
and yes we digress. My jaw
catches.
Mouths
cracking
dry,
picking
at
our string of words
like beaks
in feathers.
Why couldn't I just say it.
Mia Moore
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