I’ll make the promise again,
but you’ll forget, she says.
Her lips brush his ear
like a butterfly’s wing.
They lace little fingers.
Make me the promise
that you’ll never leave
this coal slurry town.
Sing along with me. Fall
to pieces on the jukebox.
Have you ever been in love?
yes, back in the day, she says,
staring at the bluish-green veins
on her hands that push above
her liver-spotted skin
like a tactile map.
I’ll make the promise,
but you’ll forget.
Let’s pinky swear
like back in the day,
when finding a deep breath
was easy in the fouled air
between us.
William R. Stoddart is a Pushcart nominated writer from Southwestern Pennsylvania. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Valparaiso Poetry Review, North Dakota Quarterly, The New York Quarterly, and South Florida Poetry Journal. His fiction has appeared in Litro, Molotov Cocktail, Literally Stories, and other publications.
**Featured image from Pxfuel, cropped & adjusted