The Girl At the End of the Rope

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

That Kind of Storm

Photo by Peggy Goetz

The rain

pelts the window glass

like thousands of tiny fists

in impotent fury

The sound

does not soothe or

amuse me

as it did earlier when the rain

pinged upon car hoods

with the sloppy rhythm of popping corn

or

rat-a-tatted

like little bird feet tapdancing

on the roof

This storm

sounds serious

The wind

howls like a feral ghost dog

in the night

and sends my own dog,

a cocky Maltese,

under the bed quivering

Me,

I make a strong cup of tea

It's a teakettle kind of storm

The nagging beep

of the microwave just won't do

I want to listen

to the whistle, brave

and persistent

I hold

the china mug between my palms

It warms my hands

and wards off the demons. 

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Wednesday With Peggy

Storm

People of Chilmark, Thomas Hart Benton, 1920

Quickly carry the boat back to shore

Black is the sky, the waves are high

The Hyades cry in grief

The Pleiades are dark

We plead with the gods

Heavens rain down

Atlas weak

Save our 

Souls

submitted for Magpie Tales 73

and for Form Monday, Nonet,  at One Stop Poetry