In, out

For the dverse prompt.

 

In and out the grass stalks, the breeze.

It carries, like a high tide, a song,

the hissing, relentless cicada song.

Among the flaccid leaves, the light

slops and slips like melted butter,

drips to the insect song of rasping wings.

In and out of my hands, the times

we prattled, joked and argued,

filling the blue and wanton air with words.

In and out, the breath, lips flutter,

dry as cicada wings,

arid as the trampled wastes of time,

and you let the silence grow.

 

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

25 thoughts on “In, out”

  1. I find the sounds your describe be so discomforting… a noisy silence waiting to be filled… that’s why I feel that the end is quite chilling. It’s like that terrible sound of a teaspoon stirring when there is nothing more to say.

  2. Awkward silences are infuriating, and isn’t it cool to contrast them to the loving silences after coitus. But silence, like truth is relative, and elusive.

  3. I admire the contrasting sounds of cicada song, rasping wings, lips fluttering versus the growing and uncomfortable silence ~ Love the details here Jane ~

  4. I have often heard that steady drone of the cicada’s song only to tune it out like tinnitus, to listen to those voices running through my head. Your last line says it all…. “and you let the silence grow!” Well done!

    1. I think it’s often like that between people who are used to knowing what the other is going to say, and what they are thinking. When they refuse to speak, it’s like being cut adrift.

  5. I like what Frank said–the line about about filling the air with words and the the silence at the end.
    There is comfortable silence when nothing needs to be said, and then there is this.

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