Promise~ by David Seth Smith

Image by David Seth Smith


We never spoke at dinner,

But sat in silence

Toying with the onions

And wishing for music

But failed to bring instruments

That could be held

And played, so

We became

Like cellos

Arching back, and

When bowed

Repeating the endless coda

Of all we’d said, and

Coming back to

That promise,

Always that promise

Now just a part

Of the cadence.

All of this was

Contemplated earlier in

Moments timed

For cooking

So that onions

Might share the blame.

© David Seth Smith 2013



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