(Poem by Wendy Howe)
see also the french version

I sit on this bench
as if it were a skeletal foot
arched and dipping
into the wet silence of spring.

You have been gone, parted
from the rise and setting or our day.
I miss your hands turning
the brass knob of our lamp, its flame
rising slowly through glass, enticing
your eyes with yellow light --

my hair
that glistened over bed linens
when we made love,

the warm skin
of pears placed
in a bowl to make

your breakfast
taste of me wandering
the garden.

You softened those dark hours
by drawing our lives
into the glow of winterís house

and the dream-span
of leaves and song birds
painted on a porcelain shade.

Now they are too real, the foliage
and the sparrows

waiting for lilacs
to burst out laughing,
their laughter soft
as your smile, yet carefree
as your shirt rumpled

from a train ride
I pray you are taking home.

© 2011, Wendy Howe. E-mail:Wendy Howe
To know more about Wendy Howe

(Drawing by Marie-France Rivière)


© 2011, Marie-France Rivière.

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