Tenth Month, Day 15

Tenth Month, Day 15

On the old wooden table in the middle of the cabin, the undulating flame of a
Solitary candle sends half-shadows cavorting across the dull and fading grain.
I sit in studious contemplation of the key in my hand, noting its lack of luster
And comparing the pitting on the notches to the growing recess in my heart.
A feeling soon overtakes me, a feeling so overwhelming that it sits on the precipice
Of being tangible; and I consider offering it a seat directly across from me.
I am loathe to label it outright, but it is reminiscent of the yearning induced
When I first saw you there alone in your wayward thoughts while you carried
On about the sea and stars and the blue wind's return. I remember your scar.
Any sane person would be frightened of the seclusion here....fifty-seven miles
From everything save the eerie summer night song drifting in through the pines.
I fear only my own obsession coupled with the impending fall of my sanity.
I realize that the baritone chant of the bullfrog has quieted at some point during
My trance; the candle tires of my company and dies an unceremonious death.
The void surrounds me, and I have no will to move from the cane back chair.
My madness has certainly peaked, I think, as I listen to what could be footsteps
Across the uneven floor; the scrape of chair legs is as undeniable as the sudden
Urgency that grows in my belly to expel the remnants of my evening meal.
My soul expires and revives one hundred times as a slightly roughened hand
Caresses my fingers while they tremble defiantly, losing their grip on the key.
Timidly I slide my free arm across the table, offering up the last of my control.
The bullfrog has resumed his performance just outside the open door, and my
World tilts slightly off its axis once more as I silently accept the invitation to waltz.

Copyright 2017 Tina Jordan All Rights Reserved

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