Posted in Love

Touched

When she asked, I hesitated, thinking the answer would be mistaken for
flippancy,
for denigration,
for shallowness –
temptation almost delivered anodyne, then paused
slow …
being thought about.
“Nnnooo…. nothing I can think of.”

The face opposite is attentive, tongue unfamiliarly still.
For the past seven days
procedures and protocols explained had been dismissed with –
“THAT WILL CHANGE.”
Now the last afternoon
the last will and testament – did the departing one have any advice?
Eyes invite confidence
silence gathers and yields
exhaling a single sentence : absurd and true.

If I had talked more and worked less .. I’d have been more successful.”
The strangest bequest,
living about to be ghost –
dead men tell no tales, or lies.
Confession unexpected and brutal,
space ….. which words cannot enter, sternness is abandoned
a hand is placed on the defeated knee, lingering
the tone is soft,
loving
“it hasn’t been easy here for you has it.” Statement not question

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Author:

Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.