Image: Unsplash, downloaded (https://unsplash.com/photos/ztQ74QFnN-M) 16.4.2023.
WUTHERING HEIGHTS
She
Hardly knew me,
And I
Her,
Yet when
She texted
Saying that
Though we
“Got along great,”
I lived too far away,
It felt
Devastating.
I will
Find faults.
But right now
She’s still
Perfect;
And as I wait
For, at least,
The sun to go down
To start drinking,
I again think of
That text,
And the song
I was listening to:
“Wuthering Heights”—
A British pop tune,
One I’d never heard before,
Infectious,
Bombastic,
Maybe brilliant;
The type of song
That it is so easy
To like,
Which I was
Starting to do;
And now
I’ll never
Listen to it
The same way
Again.
About the Author: S.F. Wright lives and teaches in New Jersey. His work has appeared in Hobart, X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine, and Elm Leaves Journal, among other places. His short story collection, The English Teacher, is forthcoming from Cerasus Poetry, and his website is sfwrightwriter.com.
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