'Between us

Like calm, but dark with dull brown fear, heavy with anticipation, the screaming silence' collapses me into a child no taller than the field-grass around, gaping at an early dusk ushered beneath thick-rolled clouds.  Inexplicably afraid, wandering terrified through a sullen day, we wait for some dreaded explanation: imagine thunder in every breath, lightning behind every blink.  What could go wrong, to merit such nerves?

Tempted by a pocket matchbox (but its warmth can remind me only of the chill!), I wish to strike some spark for you: my thin child-voice weakly cracks and then claps shut before a word escapes.  Dream-like, playing executor for my own last will and testament, I drive my aimless, plodding feet across the field.  There's nothing else to do.

All this, perhaps--like courage, but dark with dull brown fear, heavy with anticipation.






July 2017