I can't help thinking of June
back in Seattle
The ferry out to Bainbridge Island.
Watching your child's delighted face.
It seems somehow that everything's changed.
Holding another woman's daughter in my arms
The gut-wrenching shock when she leans over to whisper
her secret into my ear:
"I love you."
It was my own particular time of Thanksgiving.
Jotting down countless scribbled lists of
all the things I had with me.
It never occured to me to think of
all the things I was there without.
I am now left standing landlocked
in the middle of the plains
struggling to find a boat
that will take me back to an island.
I am listening, but can't help feeling
that there is nothing for me to hear.
A rising sense of dread because the memories that remain
-a boat, an island, a small child's delight-
are now coloured with the shadow of the truth:
you were already mostly gone.
back in Seattle
The ferry out to Bainbridge Island.
Watching your child's delighted face.
It seems somehow that everything's changed.
Holding another woman's daughter in my arms
The gut-wrenching shock when she leans over to whisper
her secret into my ear:
"I love you."
It was my own particular time of Thanksgiving.
Jotting down countless scribbled lists of
all the things I had with me.
It never occured to me to think of
all the things I was there without.
I am now left standing landlocked
in the middle of the plains
struggling to find a boat
that will take me back to an island.
I am listening, but can't help feeling
that there is nothing for me to hear.
A rising sense of dread because the memories that remain
-a boat, an island, a small child's delight-
are now coloured with the shadow of the truth:
you were already mostly gone.
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