This little poem is starting to get a bit long in the tooth, as they say, and it’s never been shared publically. So it’s time, and it’s about time.
The dog mentioned here went on to the heaven of all dogs several years ago. And frankly, I miss talking to her a lot more than than I miss the woman to whom the poem speaks. So it goes.
This piece will probably be included in a collection of poems and flash fiction which I hope will be published soon. It’s almost finished!
Which reminds me to mention that I am grateful for the time that people give to reading my humble posts. It does not elude me that your time and attention are a gift. Thank you, very much.
Time passes, so I get up
every morning. I have
soap that smells insanely
like spring in Ireland,
or a waterfall. I brush my hair
and talk to the dog while
calculating how long
it has been since you called.
Seven months, so I drive to work.
The yellow fog burns back
to the water’s edge and leaves
a brilliant path for me.
I slip along the edge of clarity
and listen as the stock market drops
through the morning light.
If time goes on, I have lunch
in the park and everything
hums through the day;
computer, printer, people
and lights. At three o’clock
I have coffee, then drive home
at dusk through certain streets
where I see you float, silk
on a breeze of unremitting weeks.
Should I call? I’m sure
there will be time, some morning,
evening, afternoon, when the clock
is resting in a shadow on the wall.
Here is an audio reading of this poem. The clock chiming in the background was purely coincidental, but I decided to leave it as is.[audio http://kylekimberlin.com/audio/certain_streets.mp3]
Certain Streets by J. Kyle Kimberlin
is licensed under a Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Really thoughtful stuff, I really enjoyed it. I’ve decided to start following your blog and look forward to more of your poetry.
Thank you, Ray’s Mom and Jena, for your kind and thoughtful comments. I’m pleased to have this one out of the drawer and into the light.
Kyle – how not to love this poem?
– love that image of ‘yellow fog’ and that
‘breeze of unremitting weeks’ and
the way that gifted poetry has of elevating the perfectly unassuming into something so special *
Clock chiming – what a coincidence, and adds a lovely touch to the equally lovely poem