Friday, November 16, 2018


by Deanna Meiresonne (writer), Chicago, IL, June 09, 2010

"You look beautiful," something fell to the floor. "And you, like hell," I nodded towards the wrinkles and tired eyes.

One hazy, sleepy Southern night.
The moon was waxing across
A clouded sky,
I swear

Jacob, that mangy mutt, was scuttling
Across the neighbors yard
I met the gentleman,
waiting there
his shadow
behind an illusion of a
front porch light

But I invited him
in for perhaps
a coffee or nightcap,

; I must say
I catered to him and we
nursed chipped mugs collected
since I was young, back when I first
fell in love. I know that now, I had

and no bad ending
can change that.

he took off his hat,
shuffled his hair
his eyes dull
my kitchen bright,
hung it by the side of his elbow, hide his face low
darkening those
Distinguishing characteristics. His voice was soft
Husky and he commented that

It was hot

in my kitchen. I allowed the screen door
a chance to breathe.

What was I thinking when I let
you in? I asked his forehead

“I’d wished you’d sooner” I realized
then his throat was parched I invited
him closer to the couch. My child,
long since
tucked in bed, coughed.
but this was an old, old friend.

You’re not as
skinny as you used to be ; he looked at me.
Neither are you –

he broke –

- anything like what I left you.
You left a child, I raised my nose to the sky.
I left a stranger, a cool breeze spoke from a window.

The mantel was littered with photographs
gone, he stood a frown
pulled down
and I knew what he was going to
Say :
“I had once thought these would be ours,” he put
His fingertips all over the
I shut
my eyes

What made you come back, how
Did you find me

“How? how is an interesting
word. You
were the girl who
would have asked why. What a stranger
you have become!” Not to me, I replied, carefully
watching his eyes. I knew you lied,

but what was it about / “what is it all about “

he laughed,

His jacket was crisp, if not
a bit wrinkled near
the back,
his scent lingered across a
carpeted track.

A car pulled up next door, the clock wound down
At the feet of it’s passengers, towards the pavement and in
Their house. It was empty, then. One

“Are they,” this stranger wondered,
“like you?”
They are like whoever they are, I answered
proudly, huffing
On my tea. “You look beautiful,” something fell
to the floor
And you, like hell, I nodded towards the wrinkles and
tired eyes.
It will never go away,

that, we agreed. “But nor will I,” he promised.

You always promised.

“I’m not here to argue about what went wrong.”

My toes crept into the blanket by
our side. Why then,
why did you come back.
A smile drew between the lines of
that face; “There it is,” he said.
I never did understand, said I back.
But you

tried to.

About the Writer

Deanna Meiresonne is a writer for BrooWaha. For more information, visit the writer's website.
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2 comments on Night/Life

Log In To Vote   Score: 1
By JJFCPA on June 09, 2010 at 03:55 pm

My normal taste is not of this genre, but I must say that this was well done.

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Log In To Vote   Score: 0
By Deanna Meiresonne on June 11, 2010 at 04:40 am

sometimes you gotta let your imagination toy with the idea of a possible future :)

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