Later in June, we would wish
the rain over us, welcome that last
crisp of spring. We wanted to hold
these lovemoments, whisper of forever
written in the tree buds. And yet we knew
what was coming, sad repeat of last
year’s summer, drying grass, bend
of flowerheads into the field, the sudden
broken promises, the surrender of our
tired hearts. How we knew again
that everything that started in April
would show its fraying edges, and by summer
the end of all of it would begin.
Late August Evening
Blue moon in the sky, full
for the second time this month.
Just like us, meeting for another
try at love. We sit at our favorite
restaurant, order our favorite meal –
garlic pasta, buttery bread and halfway
through you are certain it’s over. The
rest of our dinner going untouched and me
watching your face, now fallen out of love,
your voice talking about everything
that isn’t us. The waiter remembers
our favorite dessert – tiramisu and two
romantic spoons. I want to warn the knowing
smile from his face. Instead, I take a bite,
sweetness going dead on my tongue. I look
at your hands, skittery birds about to fly.
Meanwhile, outside, the second chance moon
continues to shine, flickering in and out
of the sky, hidden, then not, behind
a balled-up fist of clouds.
Francine Witte’s poetry and flash fiction have appeared in Wigleaf, Mid-American Review, Lost Balloon, Stonecoast Review, Moon Candy Review, and many others. Her latest books are Dressed Wrong for All This, (Flash), The Theory of Flesh (Poetry), and The Way of the Wind (novella). She lives in NYC.