A Lapse in Concentration
by Diane Becker
We guard the goldfish and the nachos as
the grey cat slips past whilst the apple blossom
plummets, tumbling over tree roots swaying back
and forwards sweeping blossom wide along the dark
cracks that appear in the current.
My knuckles hover, shining white through
hawthorn branches, spiky in anticipation whilst the
shadows from the iris thrown grey across the table, like
yellow fingers dusting shutters. A crimson post-it note
illustrates the squiggle of a resting pulse wavering
near the broken pencil leads and whorls of
soft wood which may be classed as evidence.
We score low marks for concentration.
A tone pulsates around us all like radar.
You should have stopped, he said, before
I said ‘Step Forward'. The sound of splash
though, is well muffled.
We guard the goldfish and the nachos as
the grey cat slips past.
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Author's Note
First published at The Pygmy Giant.
This came out of a (whole) summer sitting in the garden by the pond ...
Other stories by Diane Becker
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The words move and dance like ripples on a pond. Diane this is wonderful to read aloud. Lovely. *
Thanks Kathy. I wrote this a couple of years ago and I posted it today because although I still like it, I'm not convinced about the form - thinking about rewriting it as a short short/prose poem ...
Author note: Obviously had a 'lapse in concentration' when I first posted this up, put the wrong title!
Some lovely bits here.
"thinking about rewriting it as a short short/prose poem"
I'd like to see it in that form.
Thank you and yes Bill, I'm going to work on it ...