melissaahowells
|
|
|||||||||||||||
|
|||||||||||||||
|
|
in a far off memory there is someone like you fishing in a mountain stream a pole dangling above the water below a striper eager for a dancing lure you are casting above on the porch the radio speaks we listen together on the front porch under the stars to sweet strains of music of "Stairway to Heaven" going all the way to number one you and I beside one another backs aching, sweat trickling down our burned necks warm Kool-aid trailing on a rope tied to each of our ankles as we hack head high weeds in sugar beet fields for few fistful of dollars per row your peach cobbler made from your own sourdough starter and all the pancakes and biscuits in between who could have thought one could still make goodness from something which originated in the 1970's where is your jar of starter now you on the hockey rink skating backwards in one continuous looping circle again and again as I watch from the sidelines my cold feet aching suddenly you leap in mid-air changing direction I've never seen anyone so graceful, sure-footed if goats could skate you would surely be one in your truck now you sit in sweltering heat loosing time, loosing yourself refusing to remember who you were to anyone I try to comprehend what a loss is and how painful one can be I don't want to think about how you are now you make no sense to me but I still love you I've learned that this is what it means to slowly loose someone while they are still breathing. Copyright July 27 2016 Meloo Melissa A Howells Straight from her Tilt-a-World All Legal Rights Are Reserved By This Author Legal Copyright to site title Tilt-a-World Vote for this poem |
|
