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The Sidewalk
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TITLE (EDIT)
The Sidewalk |
DESCRIPTION
A woman sees her neighborhood for how it really is.
[396 words] |
AUTHOR
Piper Davenport |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
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[June 2009] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (26)
A Sunday Story (Novelnovella Excerpt) (Short Stories) A small town loves and lies on a Sunday afternoon. [2,381 words]
Ain't You Heard? (Poetry) A self-reflecting poem. [13 words]
An Obligation In Kalamazoo (Short Stories) - [1,298 words]
Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge (Short Stories) Patricia Fudge, a chocolate-lover who suffers a breakdown after becoming fixated with a guy named Elliott, whom she stalks. After she finds out that she cannot have his affections, she decides to use ... [1,143 words]
Finding A Poem (Poetry) Writing poetry is the one of the most challenging venues of a young writer's career. Mastering the technique requires the power of language, and finding a poem somewhere in your thoughts. [13 words]
Grayfield South (Short Stories) Two families converge when tragedy strikes. [7,086 words] [Mystery]
How I Ought To Be As A Writer (Plays) - [803 words]
Let No Man Tell My Story (Non-Fiction) - [1,274 words]
Morning In Detroit (Poetry) The beauty of Detroit on a weekend morning. [354 words]
Moving Beyond The Pain (Essays) - [2,014 words]
Nighttime Babies (Short Stories) A man encounters two strange individuals on a weird Sunday night. [5,565 words] [Science Fiction]
On And Off The Wall (Essays) - [1,538 words]
Secrets From A Writer's Notebook (Short Stories) Isn't it wonderful when a writer's work is read and fiction becomes reality? It makes you wonder whose following you, who are your "true fans." Lovely is the new sarcasm. [257 words]
Sestina!The Look! (Poetry) A woman walking in an inner-city neighborhood after a rainstorm questions the disconnection she feels from others of different backgrounds. She undergoes an epiphany that challenges her preconceived n... [306 words]
Sing The White Note Black (Novel Excerpt) (Short Stories) An aspiring jazz musician comes of age in 1950's Detroit. [11,701 words]
Sips Of My Coffee (Short Stories) - [732 words]
The Cat And The Mouse (Short Stories) An adventure short story. [1,367 words] [Adventure]
The Far Side Of My Room (Poetry) A writer's journey. [228 words]
The Far Side Of The Room (Poetry) - [228 words]
The Man Called Daddy (Novella Excerpt) (Novels) - [5,589 words]
The Motown Chronicles: Sing The White Note Black (Novel Excerpt) (Novels) A jazz musician comes of age in 1950's Detroit. [11,701 words]
The Nightmare Of Henry Dudds (Short Stories) This is a novel excerpt from The Motown Chronicles: Sing the White Note Black. I have decided to include this story in the trilogy that I am working on after all. [3,344 words]
The Other Side Of Me (Short Stories) This story was inspired by the darker side of my hometown of Detroit, Michigan. [1,456 words]
The Theory Of Knowledge According To A Woman Named Righteous (Poetry) A woman is hearbroken over her decaying hometown. [224 words] [Romance]
The Weight Of His Hands (Poetry) - [13 words]
Three Different Ways To Tell A Lie (Short Stories) A father finds out that his son is not what he seems. [1,177 words]
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The Sidewalk
Piper Davenport
On a hidden cul-de-sac, silent streets hide cold colonials from the common sway of ringing bells. Springtime with wilted roses,
pouring down death onto ruthless peace. Death tricks struggling babies
into believing its icy dreams but they know better. Their dry, brown faces
dance to the hand of flames in their bones that bring empty-night loneliness
bowing down to the Devil's knock, hiding underneath faint dustballs.
They think there is beauty in their yards, less the faint dustballs
fall like silk curtains in a Humpty Dumpty world of cold colonials.
Not even the destruction of April showers can end the empty-night loneliness
of the sidewalk. And what is worse: the cruel sting of slow-coming wilted roses
or the climbing snarl of hatred from those dry, brown faces?
Neither drowns in the rain like the melting tears of the struggling babies.
Fate's slippery hand loosed its grip around the struggling babies
whose parents roam the town's landscape, pushing the faint dustballs
from their artificial lawns and into the eyes of those dry, brown faces
just so their shaky unions could hide behind the cold colonials.
Still, under the watchful eye of chipped trees, intoxicating wilted roses
die with the everlasting grief of empty-night loneliness.
The dread of coming home sours the empty-night loneliness
as fate grieves for the lost, abandoned by the sidewalk. Struggling babies
stolen too soon, innocence gone, safety shattered. Wilted roses
then scream as bleeding thumbs pluck them, missing the faint dustballs
that awaken the morning town. Cold newspapers hit cold colonials
but it doesn't change anything, especially on the dry, brown faces.
I guess my hysterical longing for change scares those dry, brown faces
who hide behind the sweeping darkness of empty-night loneliness.
April showers sully the sidewalk but not the cold colonials,
nor the echoing sound of delusional pain, the struggling babies
stifling the tremble of fear passing over the faint dustballs
into the clawing hands of black squirrels eating wilted roses
that didn't make it this year. But as for those wilted roses
they die but not as rapidly as the dry, brown faces
who only come out now to observe the windless grass and faint dustballs.
They don't even notice the receding cracks of the empty-night loneliness,
howling under the moonlight along with those struggling babies.
The dullness of their weary lives fading along with the cold colonials.
In time, the sidewalk shrinks into the shadows of the empty-night loneliness.
In the morning, the street will appear the same to those dry, brown faces
who do not see the perfect sadness lurking behind those cold, cold colonials.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2009 Piper Davenport |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
July 2009 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1721
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