The Letting Go

The Letting Go

“First – Chill – then  Stupor – then . . .”  — Emily Dickinson

They dallied, sweaty on sheets, 
Talking all afternoon in the August heat, 
Hot tunes playing in the background.  
She fancied they’d rock and roll 

This way, many afternoons –
The talk so delicious, 
As honey-luscious as the kisses.
But by the end of the week, 

He spoke a different tongue, 
And by the end of the month
He did not speak at all.  
She cannot grasp the silence.

The letting go has slashed her heat.  
Her tongue hangs across the poem
Like the carcass of a deer across the hood 
Of the hunter’s pick up.

Original poem appearing in my collection titled  Turtle Woman & Other Poems