sitting quietly
day after day
hands resting on his knees
day after day
hardly moving
save to raise his hand
to brush his brow
or adjust his cap
day after day
quietly
on the same park bench
at the pond
near the same tree
same willow
you could watch him come
mid-morning
see him leave
at dinner time
day after day
sitting there
hands on his knees
quietly
same bench
same tree
one morning
as he sat there
I left my office
walked across the street
into the park
approached him
smiled
and sat down beside him
quietly
he said nothing
so we sat together
for a while
quietly on the bench
by the tree
finally I spoke up
why do you sit here old man
sit here everyday
day after day
here on this bench
quietly watching the pond
he tilts his head
speaks softly
I’ve come here for years
he says
but how can that be
I say
these office buildings
this park – they’re all new
how could you have come
to this park for years
not to this park
he says
no – not to this park
– to this tree
me and all my friends
came to willow pond
every spring
to this tree
this old willow
for years
day after day
why
I ask
why to this tree
quiet smile
we played cards
in its shade
he explains
we talked – laughed
we listened at the pond
in its wonderful shade
day after day
this wonderful willow
where are your friends
I ask
why are they not here
with you on the bench
because
he hesitates
they are gone
he says finally
quietly
gone – gone where
I ask
gone
is all he says
quietly
unmoving
hands on his knees
all gone
oh – I see
I say
do you
is all he says
so why do you sit here
day after day
I ask
he stares straight ahead
and after a bit he says
I’m listening
listening
I say
listening for what
he sits quietly for a while
then
without changing his gaze
without raising his hands
from his knees
he says haltingly
for our laughter
our beautiful laughter
I still hear it
here
on the breeze
through this willow
rob kistner © 2019
DAY 21
Another willow poem – delightful and really sad, Rob. I think this is something we all fear, being the last one left.
Glad you enjoyed this Kim. I only have one of my 1960’s “pack” left, and he lives 2,325 miles away – we do not see each other as often as we would like to. I have that sense of being the “last” ever present in my daily life. From time to time I listen to Elton John’s “Talking Old Soldiers” from his Tumbleweed Connections album. Tears everytime… ;-{
Being the last one left is so hard and sad. Trees are a good refuge for solitude.
This is an old man’s lament Kerfe, to have only a graveyard as a friend…
Oh, so poignant, the remembering of all that is gone. Yet how lovely to have such times to remember.
As I commented to Kim, I only have one of my high school college crowd left here on spaceship earth with me. It is an eerie feeling Sherry, sometimes – but I am thrilled to still be here! 🙂
To have the laughter left is a wonderful solace… i can understand why he sits there.
This is part of my sentimentsl old man series Björn… 🙂
Oh, Rob so beautiful and poignant!
Thank you Linda! Was feeling reflective when I wrote this…
Your write seemed so touching!! I loved it.
Thank you Annell, it resonates quite personally for me.
This reminds me of a story by Alice Walker, in the “Temple of my Familiar.” “They” had captured some people from a primitive tribe, as an exhibit in the museum, and the women was the last one left, as I remember, they resuced her. I should find it and read it again…it is hard to be the last one left, of the tribe we knew.
I will find it too Annell. Thank you for pointing it out. I am one friend away from being the last of my “pack”, we were damned wild and crazy children of the 60’s. I am surprised I lasted to the final two I reflect on that from time to time. It is deeply sobering, but the memories are so very precious, especially in this season of my life.
So sad to be the last one left. I had friends from long ago, moved away got out of touch. Now I have new friends.
Yes, I have new frieds as well Toni. I enjoy them, the way older adults, who’ve met later in life, enjoy each other. But these new friends did not share my journey into manhood, my discovering myself and my talents, my learning to speak my voice in public protest of social matters, the first encounters with love of the heart, my discovering the incredible music of that era, learning the freedom and responsibility of making my own choices… all that of that era was my high school and college friends – my 60’s pack. That level and intensity of living, and discovering, and vulnerability only happens once in your life. Now all but myself and one other are left from that group of 16 young men and women. It is bittersweet.
This is so gently given over to that grief that the willow sighs throughout.
I am pleased this is how it felt to you Brendan. It was quite consuming emotionally to write it.
This brings smiles and tears. I grew up in a tiny house surrounded by trees. Different ones heard different parts of my life. I know they are filled with my echo. Thank you for writing and sharing this.
Thank you Susie for your gracious words, and you are welcome! Those trees will carry your echo through time.
A beautiful (albeit sad) story, beautifully told.
How wonderful, though, that he can still hear that laughter.
I am pleased you liked this Rosemary!
Such a sad tale of remembrance beneath the willow tree.
There comes a time when long treasured friends live only in our memories…
This is incredibly poignant! To reminisce all that is gone .. I love how you associate laughter and memories with the breeze on the willow 🙂
Glad this resonated for you Sanaa. In this piece the memories were warm positive ones, like a refreshing breeze through a Willow.
Such a sad and haunting piece, Rob. The repetition was well used here.
Thank you Sara. This piece has personal meaning to me. I am pleased you liked it…!
wow powerful and poignant, love it Rob!
Thank you Kate!