While you’re away I have a dream
about Debbie Hanley in her hockey bar,
her pierced tongue in some biker’s ear
but her eyes on me in the corner.
All day long the following day
I thought about the Grace I knew
in college, how I wrote for her
about crows on the phonelines,
and how Patty knew I was falling
but invited Grace and her friends
to come visit us at the beachfront
where we all sat around on the sand
and who loved whom was settled.
And yesterday I sat in the sunshine
up on Prospect Hill, thinking about
a Kathy I’ve never mentioned and
the Susie who took me to Canada
and red-haired Beth, and Linda.
This morning, awaiting your return
I sorted the mail and put out the trash.
The sky is the same blue sky, the grass
the same green green as when we met.
The ghosts that haunt me still, even
after all these years, are insubstantial
in the face of my longing for you.
Poets And Storytellers United
Weekly Scribble #47
~ Love Makes Love ~