Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Sunday morning as rain approached
Sunday morning as rain approached,
we walked by the river among snowing cottonwoods.
I inhaled a pound of lint.
Yesterday I heard a girl I grew up with
lost her husband to cancer.
I haven’t seen her since high school
and didn’t know him.
You should have heard them whisper,
the trees along the path,
the girls with their eyes closed,
thinking no one was about.
Summer sorrows and wedding gowns;
the far-off taste of lips.
The way back is longer than we remember.
We cross it in a breath.