The girl at the end of the rope
dangled like a broken piñata
Her father found her first
Tried to breathe her life back
It was rejected
like an incompatible organ
Her mother screamed
A scream full of terror and grief
It echoed
in the house
in dreams
The girl's father had twice failed
Could not protect
his daughter or
his wife
like a man should
He became a cicada shell
an empty husk of what had been
defined now by its absence
The mean girls at school
rolled their mascaraed eyes
Said it was just a joke
Only a loser
would take their taunts and threats seriously
She did
Instead of returning from spring break
with a knot in her stomach
She fastened a knot around her neck
The girl at the end of the rope.
submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Mini-Challenge, In Other Words
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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen
