#SUNDAYPOETRY - JANUARY, PART IV
IV
AND IN THE DISTANCE, TWO PERSPECTIVE LINES
SWEETENED BY THE TIME YOU SAT IN THAT VERY SPOT FOR A PHOTOGRAPH
AS WE WALK THE RED DOOR SWINGS OPEN IN A VISION
I HEAR THE GARDEN GATE, A SQUEAKY LATCH. A DOG BARKED LONG AGO
THEN A CAT, GRAY AND ORNERY LIKE AN OLD WOMAN BEYOND HER YEARS.
WE WERE STILL YOUNGER.
I SAT AT THE COUNTER WEEKS LATER AND THOUGHT I HEARD A VOICE
THE LAMINATE PEELING AWAY WITH OUR FINGERS OVER THE YEARS
THE BURN FROM THE CANDLES LIT. ONCE WE STARTED THE CAT ON FIRE.
IT WASN’T A VOICE SO MUCH AS AN INHABITANCE.
THE GARDEN GATE, THE TOP OF A HEAD PAST THE WINDOW, THE BACK DOOR OPENS,
SILENCE AT THE END OF THE STAIRWELL. A WAITING, BREATHLESS FOR THE PAST TO BECOME PRESENT
(A GLIMPSE OF A MAN TALL WITH MISCHIEF EYES AND A SPRINGFUL GAIT)
(A TEENAGER WITH SLUMPING SHOULDERS AND HAIR TOO LONG AND PANTS TOO TIGHT)
THE STAIRWELL WAS DARK AND THE GATE WAS CLOSED. YEARS LATER, THE DOOR WAS PAINTED OUT.
