A Stretch

To say she loves me
would be a stretch,
but I always recognize
her knock on my door.

The first time she said goodbye
she left a hole,
a place for thoughts and hopes
and despair and wonder
to rattle around and bounce
off one another until each was
nothing more than broken litter
scattered across the floor.

To say she loves me
would be a stretch,
but I always recognize
her knock on my door.

The second time
she left a hollow shell,
an emptiness devoid of sight
or touch,
on a continual search to fill nothingness,
never able to find rest,
finally nothing more than broken litter
scattered across the floor.

To say she loves me
would be a stretch,
but I always recognize
her knock on my door.

The last time…the last time
is difficult to forget, and to remember.
I know there was a great deal
of lost time,
the smell of old leather,
the salty taste of tears,
and the trail of black feathers
she left in her wake.

To say she loves me
would be a stretch,
but I always recognize
her knock on my door.

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9 Comments

Filed under Poetry

9 responses to “A Stretch

  1. She

    She’s a phoenix. Or the cat who ate the phoenix. Or both! 🙂

  2. I hope this is fiction. But you describe it so vividly that perhaps….

  3. Beautiful…poignantly romantic… 🙂

  4. Wow, the repetition works so powerfully here to show the pattern of pain and loss….this is heart-wrenching!

  5. Wonderful form. Powerful and beautiful.

  6. With a relationship like this you must not expect too much as it is merely an interlude and it will always pass.

  7. I sit here fascinated with the descriptive power of the words and repetitions that emphasized each new passage … beautifully written story!

  8. Simply wow, a vivid image conjures up in the mind of the lover and his beloved…..it is indeed very beautiful!

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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