poetry, prosetry

fading out under the ashes of the night

For the child, time stretches out immeasurably in all directions, and it’s as if nothing more is needed than unencompassed possibility. A little blonde girl walking down the sidewalk with her father makes eye contact with me as I sit myself down in the couch by the window in the deepening sunset evening to read. She gives me the warmest little girl smile and a friendly wave as if fanning simple kindness my way through thick summer air and I hear her say “the neighbor” to her dad over the cicadas’ divertimento, without hearing what came from him. Did she come from him? I wonder about her future, and, in doing so, think back to what was once mine and I remember the way it looked from the interior, seemingly infinitesimal like looking up at stars projected on the dome of a planetarium. For some of us, the ceiling is just another direction. For others, it’s a destination.

My friend has been dead for six years though I only found out today and I’m not at all sure what kind of friend that makes me but I am certain we once shared dreams like young friends do of being more than where we came from. Some nights are defined by lack. Some nights are just thoughts. Some nights are like tonight.

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3 thoughts on “fading out under the ashes of the night

  1. Pingback: fading out under the ashes of the night – M.

  2. your writing has touched the very depths of my heart. how amazingly you have poeticised tragedy and pain, I can almost feel your words prick onto my skin as if to make me feel the amount of pain you wrote this with

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much for this comment. I’m very pleased to know my words have touched you this way and I’m grateful that you’ve taken a moment to tell me so. I believe beauty can be found “in the apertures of pain”—such is what I hope to achieve.

      Liked by 1 person

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