RememberingA Poem by CrowleySometimes its sad...He could fish…he knew he could remember how to do that But he couldn’t recall the reflection of the ceiling fan in her watery brown eyes Or the way she liked him sweaty during sex, head and shoulders, knees and toes She called him Frank when she came to visit, he had no memory of Frank But at that moment she smelled like vanilla and kissed his neck, plate of snicker doodles For now, he was Frank at least for one more warm kiss, familiar
He could fish…if he could just remember where he put his damn fishing poles Maybe they were in the truck, where was his truck, he needed his keys The bird on the sill asked him to play cards, maybe he could play cards Where were his cards, maybe in his other pants, maybe someone stole them There was no room in his head for two thoughts, when one entered, the other dripped The intellectual playground too full to play kickball, we should sit on the steps
He could fish…the shores of the lake lapped beside his hospital bed nightly But he didn’t have the right kind of bait and he needed his shirt or he would burn A mermaid swam to him and sang beside his bed and he asked about his poles She kissed him and gave him rum and went to look, he floated on lily pads On shore he talked with the great blue heron, the bird looked sternly at him You can fish, he said, I know you can, but where are your fishing poles? © 2018 CrowleyAuthor's Note
Reviews
|
Stats
258 Views
8 Reviews Shelved in 1 Library
Added on July 16, 2018Last Updated on July 16, 2018 AuthorCrowleyPhoenix, AZAboutLike to hang out with other writers and see what's what. Have met a lot of good people on this and other sites through the years. Decided to come back and do a little posting and reading. Hit me up i.. more..Writing
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|