early evening sun
searches empty rooms
hearing voices of the departed
echoing like pebbles on a far drum

they had to go
abandon endless skies
for earth, fire, air, water
and sensibility posted on a brick wall

but in my head
bare feet still drum the wood floors
screen doors still slam
before and after sandwiches

and milk that fuels such mischief
as giggles and sand in the rugs
after afternoons on the beach
and before mourning like this

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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1 Response to Here

  1. stephanie says:

    You may be able to predict, given how difficult it is, every year, for me to leave the cottage, that this one hit me close in my core. It did, and does. Haunting and beautiful. Really captures that feeling…

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