I wrote this poem at a workshop in response to Cape Cod Evening, 1939 by Edward Hopper.
Cape Cod evening
Night blue soaked the trees
like ink. The sun left traces
on the whispering grass
kneelength. He didn’t come home
that night or any night.
Night blue soaked her body
like the trees. Face lost.
The other one picked a seedhead
from each stalk. Rolled it
between finger and thumb.
Lose your hands in the dog fur,
warm, still-beating skin, ears
pricked, tail half-mast, tip white
like a flag casting shadow
on the house, blinds half-shut.
Writer’s Notebook – a series of posts releasing unfinished fragments into the world. Recognising the value in sharing.