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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