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Written in my younger adult years |
Windy Sunday The wind blew so hard today. The neighbor's tree broke off And fell into my yard. My trash cans lost their lids. The windows rattled. I felt like we would be Swept away. Perhaps that would be nice. I could start over Somewhere else From scratch. Rag Dolls Workmanship primarily. Honest labor. Intricate detail. Coordinated colors. Perfect stitches. Quality. Grandmotherly love. Body Space I see a fat man. A little shy. A wall envelopes him, Keeping people away, Protecting him. No one can love him easily. He's lonely but safe. I look at him and see More than a body form. His silence speaks volumes Of pain and suffering. Big Bob My young friend. We fought, but we've learned. We earned our mutual respect. There were no gifts. It was never easy. The differences in age, background, attitudes Could not deter friendship. I don't know that we well ever Understand "friendship" In quite the same way. I do know the struggle was worthwhile. It was not a friendship that lasts. We may even shun each other Sometime in the future As our lives grow apart. I will always remember this time With fondness. Rainy Evening Drip. Drip. Drip. The rain is soft and gentle. Water drips slowly from gutter To window sill. Drop by drop, Keeping steady rhythm, Lulling me into A dreamy trance. My weary spirit takes refuge In the quiet of the Drip, Drip, Drip. |