The Line

“The Line”

 He said…..

“I know where the line ends”

Breathing heavily

Chest caved in.

Standing before me

Un-pompous for once

Before the swallowing

Of blackened, cracked

desert earth.

An unfamiliar view of the line?

The one his ego successfully

toy’d with, maneuvered, expanded

according to his every need.

Rubber banding it

Spreading it so thin

As it desperately bucked each time

to keep its shape.

Shattered now…..

Pieces lay between my brow

Permanently changing the crease of reality

from then and now.

Chipped now …..

Pieces of domestic bliss

Scattered on the kitchen floor

Of sacred meals never to be served.

Cracked now….

Pieces cover and consign to the grave

the velvet smoothness

of her loving hands.

He said…….

“It’s not horizontal, but vertical”. 

Before he crossed it and after it cracked

He sat a little too long on it

And when he looked below

Got a glimpse of Hell”.

….. that’s where the line ends.

By: Yvonne Zepeda


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