Cape Cod Morning with Hopper
Me trying to write something romantic… within 20 minutes …
Mar 19, 2026 · 1 min read
Cape Cod Morning with Hopper
Two decades since
yet the beat of his gait
are well known lyrics
her face so near the window
breath fogs the pane
sweaty palms
free the wrinkles on her dress
and flatten wayward wisps in her hair
with a doorknob twist
she’s inches beyond the threshold
not knowing what to do with her hands
out here
he waits at the end of the path
his luggage rests on pebbled road
she runs down the steps
her feet are fingers
scaling over every key on a finely tuned piano
he starts towards her
stifling sobs escape between her fingers
his broadening smile cut short when
she leaps into his arms
he keeps her floating forever
her neck cradles his nose
her citrusy scent is a wild chariot
traveling back in time
he untangles to say, “knowing this face,”
her chin cupped in his calloused hand,
“is how I survived,”
words watery in his throat
“you’re here” she chokes
(An ALARM goes off, “time’s up on your writing sprint”)
He nods. Then he stabs her.
The end.
……………………………………..
(Hopper, Edward. Cape Cod Morning. 1950, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, DC)
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