Pinky Promises

It came like the winter,
and a breeze that almost blew,
my brittle bones away,
once I spoke too soon.

Never break a pinky promise,
and that was set in stone,
along with the soft rock,
playing on the radio,
he never let me turn.

As my fifth finger,
wrapped around his,
I began to question,
his own motives,
and what he stood against.

I like Indie, too.
He kept a steady eye,
on the back road,
that lay before,
his rusting pick up.

I sat in unison,
with my soda pop,
in the palm of my hand,
careful not to look,
too dreary.
For he wouldn’t approve,
of anything of that sort.

Instead I stay still,
staring at the desert sand,
that scurries past us,
as we go 80,
on a speed limit of 60.
I rest my head back,
and close my billowing eyes,
thinking to myself,
I’ve already pinky promised,
and I can’t take it back.

Author: Victoria Jerde

Victoria Jerde is a writer who enjoys long walks through forgotten mine fields, cutting her hair spontaneously, and reading books that make her cry for no reason. She likes to spend all her money on face masks that probably don't make a recognizable difference, and she is also the type of person to lose everything that she owns. Her favorite hobbies include waking up at two in the morning because she thought of something to write about, sewing clothes when she gets stressed out, and being a fake IG model because hey, why not? View all posts by Victoria Jerde