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.