POEM: Red Rope


Had you decided long before
to use the beams
that stretch our view?
Where we look out over the bay
watching whale-ripples and snorting spouts,
swarms of little moth-white yachts.

Did you choose the red rope
(Doesn’t red mean “Stop!”?)
for its coarse, bristling yarn,
strong enough
to hold your weight?

Would you have swung the other leg
over the edge
if I hadn’t come early?
Home to our house above the bay
to find the red rope slung
over the beams
and tied
around and around your neck.

So you would have dangled,
around and around and around.



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