Not Since Then
•
this turn
down our country lane
I could make it in my sleep
so familiar
I anticipate every bend
rise
every dip
they are welcome as a friend
like the sound of my tires
as they trundle ‘cross
the narrow wooden bridge
that fords the feisty brook
and coming round
I see the corridor
of faithful old-growth Doug’s
stepping back for me
inviting my return
guarding my safe passage
they sway
as if to celebrate
that I am back again
now
it’s left up our gravel drive
the pebble and crushed rock
crunch and clatter in stony rustle
as I traverse our hill
swing onto our concrete carport
pause
and key the engine off
all is silent
save the tick and popping
as the engine cools
this is my favorite moment
just before I open the door
to step up
and approach the house
approach you
this moment of anticipation
knowing you are waiting
bathed and fragrant
warm and soft
dressed in something that will whisper
welcome home my love
I’ve missed you
then I take you in my arms
fall into your loving eyes
pull your willing body close
to wrap ‘round you
and drink you in
intoxicated
these moments
melt into sweet love making
that continues until exhaustion
we both love when I return
from a business trip
but tonight
I do not key the engine off
I do not reach for the handle
do not open the door
I simply
sit
you are no longer waiting
not in quite sometime
not since you lost your battle brave
not since I held you
that final time
your body still warm and soft
not since then
now
my business trips are longer
my returns
fewer
and farther between
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
note: Doug’s are Douglas Firs
• To hear the author read Not Since Then, click below:
…this poem is an edited rewrite of one of my older poems
in response to writing prompt #52, found at “readwritepoem”.
Beautifully sad… the way you shift to remembering the happy past in the middle is really well judged and makes the ending hit home.
Lirone –
Thank you… I’m pleased this moved you.
…rob
“I simply sit” : loneliness and grief can really paralyze us, as we let ourselves be flooded by our memories.
Annette –
It can be incredibly debilitating, yes…