The Day of Her Departure

She heard the wind across the way;
Her chest grew tight, the sky turned gray,
And all she knew just fell away,
The day of her departure

She wanted more, she needed more;
She didn’t know what was in store
But wanted time – a leisure tour –
A world both ripe and larger

It wasn’t that she didn’t care
For those behind; it was that there
Were dreams that she had yet to dare –
To dance, to be a marcher —

Then one last time, the weather vane,
Perhaps a flash – a hint – of pain,
For she would not be back again:
The day of her
Departure

She Knows Now

(Part II. See here for Part I. – Owen)

The morning sits among the plow fields sleeping,

The shadows start to crawl from early sun;

For what’s gone down she knows now – there’s no keeping

A hidebound lie that’s been turned loose

To run

= = = = =

(Part II. See here for Part I. – Owen)

Who is That?

What is her story?

Who is that? What is her story?
Picture jumping off the screen.
Searching my mind’s inventory,
Has the poet scrambling.

Maybe she’s a brand-new doctor.
Maybe she’s just having fun
After conquering depression.
Maybe she just met someone

Who will love and treat her gently.
Maybe she’s out on a trip
Of a lifetime, there, intently,
Smiling at some idle quip

Of somebody just off-camera;
Two old girlfriends, maybe three.
Who’s that girl now, what’s her story?
I’ll tell you, and
You tell me