Impatient of the Dawn
No new lease for the cabin in the wood,
No replenishment for the lake
At the bottom of the hill,
No more apple slice
Slipped between my lips,
The taste crisp, crunched
And savored like dew drops
From a branch’s furthest tip,
Only the lonely slap of my slippers
On the rain wet pavement.
I bend for my paper and up again,
Among homes still cozy dark.
The widow next door in silhouette,
Watches me from her upstairs window,
The flutter of her gown a whisper,
Ghostly and stark. She remembers
Not long ago,
When her husband drew
The rubber band away and
Unfolded the self-same news.
Those better times and bitter,
The feel of him, his arms,
The press of his chest,
His infrequent laugh, his frequent smile
At some homely comely disaster.
Then the day the test came back,
The day the cake slipped from pan to floor,
The dropped cup broken, and more, much more
Before he left ahead of her,
To lie in peaceful meadows
Among lesser friends utterly forgotten.
She does not know
My cortege too is leaving soon,
Leaving these verdant fields,
These dandelion hills
To craggy rock ledges,
To slate slabs for eternity’s repose
To troubled dreams,
And memories un-deposed.
While she continues her vigil
As dawn turns to day
And day turns to night again,
And homes cuddle to sleep all around
Until there’s just the one lone light behind her.
Thoughtlessly rude, I wave at her.
Crude to interrupt her reverie.
Offended, she turns away, disappears,
But circles back to wait her turn,
And poignantly ignore me and, like me,
Impatiently wait for the Dawn.