She had spent her life
squinting into the wind watching others hold hands
staring at all the arms
wrapped around waists
now that she had begun to smile
with her mouth closed
she decided she would never
drive home again
She loved the driver's side
the warm sun
in her face
she knew it was time
to throw away his ashes
but she had heard so many stories
of terrible things that happened
to women who rushed such actions
so she drove on
listened to one unknown song
after another on the radio
until she found a tiny bookshop
beside a river
where they served wine
and where she could
dance the tango all night
with strangers
I love all your work Claine, the humanity, the observance of the importance in little things, and how they reflect a life and emotion. Fabulous!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much James.
ReplyDeleteAs always, this sensation you're shooting a movie through words! It's powerful!
ReplyDeleteThanks Beatrice
DeleteDear Claine, All of the above. In spades. The poems feel continuous. A wave? No, not a wave. A poem is not a film. A different force.
ReplyDelete