November 22, 2011 § 2 Comments

dusk creeps
round shouldered
over the hills
dampening the valley
with it’s slow cold breath
as the man with
rucksack ( canvas and strapped )
heads for the cabin

inside the lamps trimmed
burning, cookstove warm
inside, he puts the pack by
the door
inside he kisses the forhead
of the woman
who never learned
how to stop being beautiful

he’d been gone three days
he’ll stay five
before leaving again
his bag of tools on his back
piecework in town for
the few dollars they need
but now he’s here

they eat
they talk they laugh
she reads him the letter
from her sister in Kentucky
long now a widow, who met
a merchant man who asked her
to move north to Cincinnati
to wed

it may do her good,he says,
she never got on well alone
near as I can tell
we have enough saved you can
take the train to
see her get hitched
if you want
maybe, she says, and puts the letter
on the sideboard

the lamps out
both of them knowing that
she won’t go
having not been more than
two miles apart from one another
for fifty three years
as dusk moved on and dark moved in
they slept
together apart
from the world beyond their valley


§ 2 Responses to two

  • Thomas Davis says:

    This is wonderful narrative poetry. Since my wife and I are aging, I especially like the idea that this is not young love, but love that has its basis in living life together over two lifetimes. I especially like the ending, they slept/together apart/from the world beyond their valley, denoting how together they are apart from the world, two worlds contained within a cabin away from town.

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