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Stranger

an empty lobby... behind the counter,

no one waits

empty chairs gathered around

just taking up space

paper walls cracked with time

and stained with age

so this is home...

 

an outline

where the calendar used to hang

the clock

stuck at three

and the sun hasn't shone for days

 

behind the counter

in another room

a man breathing

like the air will leave him soon

 

hey, mister

i'm looking for somebody...

i was hoping you could help me...

 

the man gets off his seat

and as he shifts

without a sound,

the old chair squeaks

he finds his balance

and makes his way to me...

 

in his hand

a walking cane

across his heart

a darkened stain

the fear and tears he bares

he bares the pain

 

you could see it in his eyes

the eyes that don't see past time

 

one foot in front of the other

one step, and then another

walking backwards

backwards in time

he takes his

and time takes him

 

he reaches the counter

and looks me in the eye...

 

he speaks his words

like a sweet soft song

he speaks with a half-smile

to hide all that's wrong:

 

up the stairs,

the second floor

on the right,

the second door...

 

he listens...

as i make my way to where he led

he listens...

painting a picture in his head

he listens...

to all that's dead

 

up the stairs,

the second floor

on the right,

the second door

 

deeper...

the heat draped in the sky,

the stars still in the night

deeper...

deeper into gray,

deeper and further away

 

the curtains

on the window down the hall

open, just to let the dust in

then let it fall

gathering with time

like missing pieces to a plan

never to see the same place again

from where they first began

 

the walls like jagged stone

edges chipped away

discolored with the tint

of never seeing day

and yet,

the night still fades

 

deeper...

 

calling up from the bottom,

up from the first floor,

an old voice in heavy gasps:

 

she checked out

some time before

 

and so i stand...

a stranger at the second door

 

back against the wall

the ground weightless beneath my feet

my head buried in my hands

listening...

...a beat

 

between the cracks and gaps

falling to the ground

falling...

without a sound

Request permission to use this poem
c
Written by
chrstne
American
Published
May 20, 2010
Lines·Words
96·392
Notes

Written in 2003

Permission

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