Classical Jazz '05



I Hate this Town but I'm So Affraid to Leave on 3/28/09 at 04:26

As I gaze over the dusty computer desk,

Past the over-turned cup of pens and the paw

Prints left by Regan, I can hear you, muffled like my ears

Are full of wax. “Remember when Militza and Hank slept

Over just for the week-end. We got so bored we had

To walk back to their House after a few hours, drinking

Suttor Home the whole way.”


I run my hands through the rumpled hair on my head.

My rigid fingers that once held you now reach toward the blue

Ceiling of the office that was ours,

Trying to break though the plaster membrane to meet

Our bedroom, empty.

The words stare at me, shout at me, deride me.

Bolded, underlined, italicized, 72-point, caps locked,

Times New Roman font, like road kill: You don’t want to

See it, and yet you cannot look away. “Then you and I spent that

Thursday watering the back yard, making it immaculate,

And planting that lettuce garden because your brother told you to.”


You tell me to make it personal; the book will be better that way.

“Let go of your secrets. No one will know they’re true.”

But I’ll know. I’ll know and it will remind me of you. You, Hank,

Militza, my brother, lettuce, late nights, cheap,

Jug wine, the walk we took every night. The

Walk you had to beg me to take, to that god-awful hill

With the dead plants and sharp boulders. I would give anything

To take that walk with you, one more time. With anyone.


My cursor blinks.





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Artist: Cassidy Kavanagh
School: North Allegheny
For Creative Writing. PostSecret Prompt
Ticket info - call 800-555-1212