Member-only story
Genevive’s Draft
Poetry in a storm
The predicted storm blows an overture. The window is cracked open. Dirt swirls on the sill. Genevive’s fingers flurry. Her first words trickle,
“I. Trudge. Between. There. And. Here.”
She breathes heavily burdened by memory. Leaning into the screen she mouths,
I trudge between there and here.
This is just a dry run she shouts,
“I TRUDGE BETWEEN THERE AND HERE!”
A first dusting always frustrates her,
This is a goddam mistake.
The rattling pane startles her out of her mind. Outside, the last leaf detaches from a bent branch. She follows its free fall then returns to her hands, two storm clouds looming. Left nimbus twitches, its finger strikes s. Right pinky rushes to the Delete key. Left finger strikes s again. When she shifts to uppercase, S’s stature encourages her,
“MY SHOES ARE SOAKED! SLUDGE OOZES BETWEEN MY TOES AND WHEN I LIFT MY LEG, I HEAR A SUCKING SOUND.
She looks away to where the leaf lingered then back at the smallest finger creeping toward Delete. She forces it to ENTER, purses her lips, and whispers, “Wuuuuuu,” clears her throat and blows a steady: “Waaaaayyyyyy,”
