so many quiet spots in our lives

so many quiet spots in our lives

A Poem by Philip Gaber

  so many quiet spots in our lives

You told me you grew up in a foster home.

Fantasized about being adopted by that

anguished young couple you saw in your

bedroom window on that chill New Year’s Eve

morning.

The husband,

smoking, shaking his head and looking

at his wristwatch,

stood stiffly.

The wife,

silent and sullen,

arms folded,

eyes shielded by sunglasses,

paced the parking lot.

But you decided he was too short to be

your father

and she was too hard-looking to be

your mother,

so you scrapped the whole idea.

Then suddenly, you looked at me and said,

“I’m sorry. I gotta go.”


“Wha?

“I’m not in a perfect place these days…”


What are you talking about?”


“I can’t do this… I’m sorry… Love is…

not what I’m interested in at the moment…

We’ll only end up imploding…


Imploding?


My foster mother told me, with men you’ve

got to be loving, adoring, and forgiving…

And I… am none of those things…


We made plans, I said. “We were gonna

move to Santa Barbara… You were gonna

open up a little rare bookshop… I was gonna

find me… What happened?


All I can say is, I have no idea what to say…

Let’s just stick a fork in it and call it a day…”

You held out your hand and wished me a

great life.

Instinctively, I offered my hand,

but I was so stunned,

it just sort of dangled there

and we never did shake hands.

You reached into your purse,

took out a bottle of aspirin,

popped three of

them in your mouth and

chased them with some coffee.


“It’s gonna be alright, you said.

“Everything’s gonna be alright.”

That night, I walked to that all-night

diner where we’d first met

and had a piece of key

lime pie.

I felt like I was coming down with a fever

so I went into the bathroom to splash

some cool water on my face.

I avoided the mirror altogether;

I wasn’t ready to confront that look of

heavy resignation beginning to form around

my eyes.

I went back to my table,

pulled out my wallet,

laid down a ten

and left.

© 2024 Philip Gaber


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Thank you, Red! I don't get along with conventionally. Appreciate your time.

Posted 4 Months Ago


Very interesting - kinda quirky and off-beat - but fascinating too. A tale told confidently and with some style ✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Posted 4 Months Ago



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Added on July 21, 2024
Last Updated on July 21, 2024

Author

Philip Gaber
Philip Gaber

Charlotte, NC



About
I hate writing biographies. I was one of those kids who rode a banana seat bike and watched Saturday morning cartoons and Soul Train. But my mother would never buy any of those sugary cereals for us k.. more..

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