Afterward

What was I supposed to do?
Her ashen face was first to turn,
And then the knob, and then
The starter motor, then the
Wheels across the gravel drive.
She didn't wave. She hadn't
For a month or two. I sat,
In silence, on a chair, inside
A room which seemed to
Sag a little as the pressure
That had built throughout
That month or two, escaped
Through the still-open door.
Her flesh had gone. I thought
It would, her spirit having
Disappeared ahead of it,
And, as I sat, I saw again
How I had simply moved
Aside to let it go, as I suppose
I'd known I had to do.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 24 times
Written on 2011-04-16 at 14:04

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