This is How I Imagine Walking Your Last Hour

Your dead hands in mine. The last gasp of winter
pulling at our coats. A blanket of clouds shielding

us from God. Small steps on the sidewalk in front
of the library. You ask if we can go in for a minute.

I sit and read a book. You disappear in the stacks.
Someone else hears your confession. I watch

the clock. We are slowing down. Time is slowing
down. Later there will be room to move quickly.

We leave the building and do not look back. You point
across the road. This is where I leave you, you say.

You don’t see this part. I ask for a reminder, a token.
You take your affliction from your pocket and press

it into my palm. There’s so much I’m unable
to tell you. Try to not use words to figure me out.

My story’s not written for you to consume. It’s here—
A tap to my forehead. A smile. You go on ahead.

Josette Torres received her MFA in Creative Writing from Virginia Tech. She also holds a BA in English and Creative Writing from Purdue University. She is the Writer-in-Residence at The Lyric Theatre in Blacksburg, Virginia.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.