Flame to Ember

What we once were, we cannot be anymore,
I think, as I sit in her kitchen. Once, she was
Beautiful. Now, she's not. Once, perhaps
Because I would listen, she wanted me badly.
Now, what I am, it appears, is proof that what's
Wanted is not always good to have. There is
Little to say. She's tired, she tells me. We talk
About kids, and jobs, our marriages. Done
With the dishes, she touches my hand, and I start.
She smiles. I'm happy I came. What we were,
We are not. We are broken and old, but she's
Shown me that something remains.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 64 times
Written on 2010-06-04 at 12:51

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