Not as Rare as It Sounds

The cursed day arrived
and the double rainbow 
made from God’s refracted tears
only made matters worse
because it meant the marriage
would follow,
and the plays that she’d rehearsed
in fond, familiar fields
with her beloved sister
were silly words, 
lines she’d learn to swallow.

For now, fingers doubled down 
with fright, she whispers,
“Oh, let it be a long goodbye,” 
her lap piled high 
with beloved childhood verse
soon to be passed down
as she must walk the path
from pasture to church, 
telling herself 
this transition is not 
as rare as it sounds.
But the words are 
meant to soothe 
the broken part of her. 

©2023 | K. Hartless

This poem was penned for Visual Verse, 5/23.


  1. it’s a wonderful opening; I can’t help thinking, K, that it is overloaded with explanation; I’ve read this four or five times : to me, it’s more effective if it ends after ‘beloved childhood verse’ —

    Liked by 1 person

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