Stonewall - Onomatopoeia

Stonewall by Amy Shelver

I could conjure you.

I could manifest you clear as day.

I could muster your face

and connect to you.

All it took was a simple, silent call.

Straight from the Centre point.

And You would come.

It could catch on a whispy air stream.

It would link you and I.

No matter where we were.

Whenever, it could do.

This felt magical.

It was too.

Like a spidery thread connected us.

Flowing tender in the wind.

Brittle but beautiful.

So easy to send tingles windways.

Call and response.

Call and response.

Morse code for the heart.

Reflecting the tiny fractures of light.

Beams everywhere…

A wonder really.

A showcase of the impossible perfection

of human connection

Two hearts open.

But a wicked wind did,

what wicked winds do.

The strand was severed

and with it you.

Emotional jamming.

The blasted fuzziness.

And the dove freefalls.

All the things she carried…

Simple hopes and little things.

Disaster wings.

Is the frequency a radio wave?

Radio silence.

Two spidery strands whisp and dangle.

Still with light, but no direction.

Contrails where the heart once was.

Out of order.

Our makeshift tincan telephone.

And not a way to say adieu.

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