unfinished stories
© Kennedy James. All rights reserved.
on the platform
at the train station
over the noise of jumbled languages
and the howls
of crying children
she curses at him and leaves
with an angry turn of her head
and a hand that pulls away from his shoulder
and flicks at the emptiness
of her life without him
angry and hurt
she pushes her way
through the collapsing air
of the moment
somehow ominously wet
against her cheeks
where it clings like an unforgiving acid
eating its way
through the future
before the sun sparks light
into the summer sky
she hurries through the doorway
and down the walk
but catches only a glimpse
of taillights already fading
down the boulevard
towards the irreconcilable corner
and into an unforgiving unknown
so she holds onto a lamppost
steadies herself with one hand
and aiming
with as much strength
and certainty
as she can muster
she fires the revolver of love
at the disappearing car
but she is already too late
and her shot
though straight and true
somehow runs wide
somehow misses its mark
she remembers something special
something that twitches its way
like a ghost
out of the moonlight
perhaps the way he stood by the fire
or the way he looked at her
across the kitchen table
his soft dark eyes piercing
the very fabric of her skin
and sending her into a strange reverie
of helpless joy
until just as suddenly
the moment is gone
and she putters with the trinkets
set carefully on the mantle
next to the photograph
the only part of him
left unchanging
the wintertime is coming
and the frost on the windows
tells unfinished stories of love and loss
of the brightest hopes
and the darkest sorrows
of disappearing yesterdays
and impossible tomorrows
if only it were a dream
a nightmarish sleep
from which we could wake
but the truth is too cruel
too impossible to escape
always returning in a river of sighs
when the best of love
disappears
beneath the flood of
unconditional goodbyes
at the train station
over the noise of jumbled languages
and the howls
of crying children
she curses at him and leaves
with an angry turn of her head
and a hand that pulls away from his shoulder
and flicks at the emptiness
of her life without him
angry and hurt
she pushes her way
through the collapsing air
of the moment
somehow ominously wet
against her cheeks
where it clings like an unforgiving acid
eating its way
through the future
he watches her leave
smells the scent of her perfume
escaping in ghostly vapours
feels the imprint
of her arms
which just moments before
were tight around his shoulders
hears her voice
drifting into silence
shudders at the sight of
her long coat
trailing behind her
like a wedding veil
and he closes his eyes
turns off every sense
to memorize
her face
her scent
her touch
her voice
puzzle pieces fitting together
in an image of her beauty
and seals it in his heart
smells the scent of her perfume
escaping in ghostly vapours
feels the imprint
of her arms
which just moments before
were tight around his shoulders
hears her voice
drifting into silence
shudders at the sight of
her long coat
trailing behind her
like a wedding veil
and he closes his eyes
turns off every sense
to memorize
her face
her scent
her touch
her voice
puzzle pieces fitting together
in an image of her beauty
and seals it in his heart
before the sun sparks light
into the summer sky
she hurries through the doorway
and down the walk
but catches only a glimpse
of taillights already fading
down the boulevard
towards the irreconcilable corner
and into an unforgiving unknown
so she holds onto a lamppost
steadies herself with one hand
and aiming
with as much strength
and certainty
as she can muster
she fires the revolver of love
at the disappearing car
but she is already too late
and her shot
though straight and true
somehow runs wide
somehow misses its mark
he stands by the bed
of the little girl asleep
and his rough hand reaches
for her soft cheek
which he strokes gently
in the dark of this
his last night listening to
the easy cadence
of her quiet breathing
and if he thinks she is waking
he freezes
into the immovable bronze outline
of something still and inanimate
until he is sure
she has returned
to the steady rhythm of sleep
when he whispers her name
at the end of a final blessing
and steps from her room
and from her life
forever
of the little girl asleep
and his rough hand reaches
for her soft cheek
which he strokes gently
in the dark of this
his last night listening to
the easy cadence
of her quiet breathing
and if he thinks she is waking
he freezes
into the immovable bronze outline
of something still and inanimate
until he is sure
she has returned
to the steady rhythm of sleep
when he whispers her name
at the end of a final blessing
and steps from her room
and from her life
forever
she remembers something special
something that twitches its way
like a ghost
out of the moonlight
perhaps the way he stood by the fire
or the way he looked at her
across the kitchen table
his soft dark eyes piercing
the very fabric of her skin
and sending her into a strange reverie
of helpless joy
until just as suddenly
the moment is gone
and she putters with the trinkets
set carefully on the mantle
next to the photograph
the only part of him
left unchanging
he writes to her from faraway
lines of hope inked
in gentle words
to ease the wounds of her fear
and he writes loving phrases he hopes
will divide the distance between them
by half
and then by half again
until his hand stutters
and his faith stalls from exhaustion
but before he collapses into ever-sleep
he turns the pages over twice
and seals them in an envelope
which he holds fast against his heart
and brushes against his cracked lips
that leave behind the bloodied seal
of a last kiss
lines of hope inked
in gentle words
to ease the wounds of her fear
and he writes loving phrases he hopes
will divide the distance between them
by half
and then by half again
until his hand stutters
and his faith stalls from exhaustion
but before he collapses into ever-sleep
he turns the pages over twice
and seals them in an envelope
which he holds fast against his heart
and brushes against his cracked lips
that leave behind the bloodied seal
of a last kiss
the wintertime is coming
and the frost on the windows
tells unfinished stories of love and loss
of the brightest hopes
and the darkest sorrows
of disappearing yesterdays
and impossible tomorrows
if only it were a dream
a nightmarish sleep
from which we could wake
but the truth is too cruel
too impossible to escape
always returning in a river of sighs
when the best of love
disappears
beneath the flood of
unconditional goodbyes
© Kennedy James. All rights reserved.
Just about the time I think you have outdone yourself, you write another brilliant poem. Honestly, I'm speechless ... thank you!
ReplyDeleteNo, thank you ... these vignettes were drifting around in my brain for some time, and I finally got them into words.
DeleteYes, one way or the other, it eventually ends. Sometimes, it ends in an instant; other times, changes in people end cherished expectations. But, one thing is for certain, it ends. Even for grandpa and grandma, grunting at one another over morning coffee and then saying nothing all day, it has ended, it ended a long time ago. How could it be otherwise?
ReplyDeletePerhaps when we look to another person for fulfillment, we are looking but at a mirror image of that which WE determine will bring us fulfillment, but which in reality, was never meant to bring that fulfillment, nor could it. In other words, freedom from a want may not necessarily hinge around attaining the object of that want, but depends instead on losing the desire for that thing we want to fulfill us. It is then that we are at peace with how things turned out.
~Manfred
Nicely said, Manfred. Funny how some endings are liberating, and some are so hurtful that people find themselves almost frozen in time, seemingly unable to carry on.
Delete