the flickering flame from the cream-colored candle
dwindled in its confidence, exuding the sweet smell
of a ripened peach freshly plucked from fertile trees
before overcast clouds cast shadow upon the backyard,
thick raindrops pelted down like sports cars racing on
the highway, blurring snowcapped mountains as it past.
She closed the white lace blinds, a gift from two years ago,
before sinking into plush gold seat covers she thought gaudy
but kept anyway after he insisted. They were comfortable,
actually, but she never admitted it. Wrapping herself in
shredded quilted t-shirts from old college days, like taking
comfort from her mother’s arms when she was young, she
flipped through the television, read a page from her book,
wrote a sentence in her unfinished journal before receding
further into her fortress she constructed, lightning struck
with startling brightness before thunder, like hooves of
dozens of horse-drawn chariots, crackled overhead and
electricity flickered and knocked out once more. Moist
water droplets sneaked through, looking for a midnight
cookie, before she patched the cracked window with a
burnt orange towel and ebbed the chorus flowing from
ear to ear but she wasn’t listening. The bedspread was
too appealing, so comfortable tonight, or morning,
her watch broke that day and she never fixed it. Time is
meaningless. Heartbeats are her seconds. She snuggled
with her gold seat cover before counting how many
heartbeats will pass before their hearts can beat
together again.
-Madeline Wahl
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