what the rope on that tree saw

what the rope on that tree saw

gravity lulled the swing back

the swing of greying board

the fraying rope on the

right, discolored and cold

was no twin to the twine

of the left

hand side

she dangled

limp and gaunt

left to haunt the hanging tree

the day the broker moved

into the tree’s backyard

he laced his hands

in burlap and

tossed a line into deep fog

in surprise the line grew

taught and the rope

wound like witches fingers smelling

of ivy and gingersnaps

she beckoned and her wolfhound sang

so he took the line

and he took the swing

and snipped the seat

in the wind the rope’s hair

unfurled and when broker’s happy feet

blended over each

other he tripped up vertical

his toes dangling and

the careless twine

cleaved against her weight

to hold another lover

aloft with molted wings

when it was done

and another broker

moved into the backyard

the splayed fingers of rope

were forced to prayer

and she bore another child. 

©2014 Lex Vex