Poetry From The Heart by Barbara Ann Smith

Our Pact


I look down the dusty road,
her bus will be arriving before long.
The sadness in the day
causes the flowers to hang grimly
and the sun to look gray.
The screen door swings open,
she stands with suitcase in hand,

first semester starts tomorrow.
Liquid's squeezed beneath my eyelids.
Time's lost in long-past seasons.
Her first steps, chubby cheeks, plaits,
lost teeth, a wobbling bike down the roadway,
rolled away with the years.
The dust spins in the dirt lane--

hastening to catch her ride,
we cling to each other,
share a few soft words,
and giggle about the time we took the bus
to Memphis and woke up a hundred miles south.
Neither of us nods a goodbye,
a pact we made as she packed.

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Our Pact

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