Sunday, February 2, 2014

The Abandoned Park


My mouth is a dry well. No matter how much it rains, the bucket always comes up empty. My stomach is swollen with sighs that cannot escape. I swallowed one too many empty promises. Bony arms protrude from this squat center, like needles shoved into a balloon. At some point, everything will have to deflate. So, let's ride this dream on empty pockets. 

I hold your hand and we climb a rickety ladder. The wood creaks beneath our feet and splinters warn us of decay, dead skin cells of a giant body that heaves and wheezes to the time of the wind. Echoes of laughter swirl up like dry leaves and mix with the smell of rancid oil. I wonder if the grease we eat hasn't already slicked these metal bars. 

I hear the lonely whine of a carousel long still, a bird with a crushed windpipe. A breeze strokes my arm and whispers words I already know. We pull the bar down and I can feel where the plastic has cracked. Little bits of stuffing fall out and dance like fairies, spinning slowly into the darkness beneath our feet.

I close my eyes and tuck my face into the crease between your arm and your chest. I feel safer here, pressed close to you as I meet my destiny. Before we start to fall, I scream. A vision of our broken bodies blinds me even though my eyes are closed. You breath "I love you" into my hair and I know we will die like this, two shadows tangled up, a stamp on the ground. My heart beats faster as we pick up speed and then it flies to my throat and stops as we drop for a moment, completely free.

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