Time Out                                                                                                         
Sue Roupp                                                                      

Pulled back, skull tight,
as if her brains needed
to be contained,
slick black hair shimmered.

Tugging on a second skin,
she adjusted the black
slitted skirt until it showed
thigh and, maybe, promises.

Driving to the dance hall
stilettos made braking hard,
as her hand tapped out
the rhythm of the steps.

Asked, will you?
Yes, she said.
Eyes locked, legs entwined,
tango tempo tempted the air.

Faster than thought,
hair and promises
whirled in the wind
until the music ended

and the staccato of
her stilettos, like her
broken bottle memory,
shook loose her hair
shredding the night.

Washington D. C.
by Sue Roupp

The black granite wall
grips the living
shadows crawling
down a concrete path
step by a capella step
craggy fingers caressing
names chipped
in stone tracing each
letter as if in the touching
of fingertip to the
sharp etched letters
the person dead
from a sort of jungle rot
will again be beside
family or unknown friends
and not gone from
this temporary
circle of life. As if
descending this path
until the black granite
looms over
our soldiering on,
the wind and sun of so
many days gone by
couple now with
the towering clouds,
the rain sure to come,
and we all remember,
remember, remember
each who died not
in our name.

From a short story "Northwoods" by Sue Roupp "

Oliver and Lisette, the young French couple, slouched down in white plastic chairs in front of the wood logs in the fire pit. Oliver again wondered why he had agreed to come here with Lisette. It was so far from home. His drooped head was supported by his hands on the side of his head; his elbows on his faded jeans. Pulling his cell phone out of his jeans pocket he checked the time. Fifteen hours and they would be on a flight back to Paris.  Just fifteen hours more."