Snapshot: Her Evening

How she spends an evening —

Her landlord’s kids have strewn the walk with toys;
She smiles as she steps around a trike.
She hears within a laughing, running noise,
The joy of children to the childlike:
And after some brief play, she’s off to hike
The longish stairs that lead her to her room.
She flips a switch to chase away the gloom

That never really leaves nor really stays
(Except when tears unbidden come at night)
But she is cheerful on the worst of days.
She pauses by the mirror at her sight
(The wind has blown today – her hair’s a fright)
But soon downstairs she goes to talk and eat,
Before she makes her evening’s long retreat.

Up in her room, she thinks of what she’ll write.
Ideas she has, like waves or grains of sand —
She’ll work on three or four of them tonight,
Then stop to listen to a favorite band
Remembering, at once, his darkened hand
And that he is no longer by her side:
The man who played the groom to her young bride.

The house is quiet, all the kids in bed;
The night is still and peaceful in the main:
And love has never died within her head,
Nor been defeated by the throbbing pain
Of heart so full, it cannot all retain —
But still, the graceful night enfolds its own,
And love surrounds her, even when alone

She broke last night.

The shattering was soft.

She broke last night.
The shattering was soft;
The aftermath was harder,
Though unseen –

And all that intellect can bring,
Was to but no avail;
There was no other’s touch
To contravene

The waves of sensate emptiness
Around her in that place:
The echoes of a missed
And present good —

The shadows seem to feel for her;
As do her friends – and cat –
She broke last night; but then
She knew she would

Accepting

Accepting

She opened up a single empty box
That held her happy memories within,
And saw the mere projection of her hope
That had become more real than earthly him –

She sat out on the highway of remorse,
And stared out at the blue and distant sea;
Accepting, underneath the glaring sun,
The hope she’d held was just
Illusory


 

[The author of this blog would like to assure everyone that no photo models were harmed in the taking of the attached photo, I think. – Owen]

Reroutes (1)

There was a time I meant to go
Another way. Another place
Was where I set out for, at first,
And though my long steps I retrace,
It’s hard to know where I went wrong,
A turn too early or too late —
But I guess where we’re destined for
Is really up
To fate.

And so I find myself aware
Of sloping hill and gleaming sea;
A world so different than the old
That seemed to mean so much to me,
It’s hard to know just what make
Of being free, yet being stuck —
But I guess how things come to be
Is really up
To luck.

I stand and watch the searching clouds
That move forever, restlessly;
I carry one old photograph
Of way back then, and you with me,
I bathe within the wonders here,
A type of yearning, walking trance —
But how or when our hearts move on
Is really up

To chance