
The cursed day arrived and the double rainbow made from God’s refracted tears only made matters worse because it meant the marriage promised would follow, and the plays that she’d rehearsed in fond, familiar fields with her beloved sister were silly words, lines she’d learn to swallow. For now, fingers doubled down with fright, she whispers, “Oh, let it be a long goodbye,” her lap piled high with beloved childhood verse soon to be passed down as she must walk the path from pasture to church, telling herself this transition is not as rare as it sounds. But the words are illusions meant to soothe the broken part of her.
©2023 | K. Hartless
This poem was penned for Visual Verse, 5/23.





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