man
bench
sun
Facts are not
a life.
Details.
old man
park bench
hot sun
Better,
but not enough.
An old man
on a green park bench
baking in the hot sun.
Closer,
but not the truth.
An old man,
still boyish,
sitting on a
green park bench
baking in the hot sun
remembering
that strange young girl
wearing
a paisley scarf,
red and blue silk,
standing like Venus
poised above
blue Aegean water
on the deck
of a white steamer,
her black hair flowing,
four decades past.
Closer still, yet missing...
An old man,
still boyish,
sitting on a
green park bench
baking in the hot sun
remembering
that strange young girl
wearing
a paisley scarf,
red and blue silk,
standing like Venus
poised above
blue Aegean water
on the deck
of a white steamer,
her black hair flowing,
four decades past.
He smiles,
considering
her hot breath,
her long sighs,
her silken thighs:
she lives again.
The poem at the confluence
of memory and imagination
engenders the stories
which render meaning.
Stories about stories;
all we can know of life,
yet enough.
-mce
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
man
bench
sun
Facts are not
a life.
Details.
old man
park bench
hot sun
Better,
but not enough.
An old man
on a green park bench
baking in the hot sun.
Closer,
but not the truth.
An old man,
still boyish,
sitting on a
green park bench
baking in the hot sun
remembering
that strange young girl
wearing
a paisley scarf,
red and blue silk,
standing like Venus
poised above
blue Aegean water
on the deck
of a white steamer,
her black hair flowing,
four decades past.
Closer still, yet missing...
An old man,
still boyish,
sitting on a
green park bench
baking in the hot sun
remembering
that strange young girl
wearing
a paisley scarf,
red and blue silk,
standing like Venus
poised above
blue Aegean water
on the deck
of a white steamer,
her black hair flowing,
four decades past.
He smiles,
considering
her hot breath,
her long sighs,
her silken thighs:
she lives again.
The poem at the confluence
of memory and imagination
engenders the stories
which render meaning.
Stories about stories;
all we can know of life,
yet enough.
-mce
