This Dimming Light Between Us

The days, you keep tying them to hooks on the ceiling. Clay ornaments on strings knocking together like wind chimes in a summer storm or the eerie jingle of the Good Humor truck driving by. Somehow both immediate and fleeting. They make the most delicate clamor

The noise sends me out of the house late at night after you’ve drifted off with the raft of our bed. I dig up the neighbor’s yard, catch raccoons in the garden, walk to the bar on the corner and ask the bartender for something, anything. I make the most delicate clamor

She ducks under the counter and pulls out a pickle jar. Small holes in lid. Label advertises Dill Spears. I am not afraid of the fluttering moths inside, their wings outspread, anticipating flight. I find you at the kitchen table when I return. We make the most delicate clamor

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4 thoughts on “This Dimming Light Between Us

  1. Nate, this prose reads like poetry. The opening metaphor set a tone of futility for me. I thought I knew where the piece was going, but I had to go back and forth trying to connect digging up a backyard and moths in a jar with a meaningful relationship at the kitchen table. Each image had such lush details, but I was lost in how it went together. Maybe I missed something?

    1. Thanks for your thoughts, Margaret. Judging by your comment, I achieved prose poetry, which was my intention. I was hoping the searching in backyards and in the bar would be interpreted as the narrator looking for a way to fix the relationship or find the words to break it off. I was thinking the moths in the jar were the advice the bartender gave the narrator to have the discussion (open the jar) and let the issues between them fly away. Looks like I need to add a bit more to get it to a point where you can interpret it.

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