I’m sure that there are words
to describe this feeling,
but I just can’t seem to grasp them
right now.
We are so far apart,
it doesn’t matter what I say.
I call out,
but you don’t hear me.
I guess I could have sent you letters;
sent pictures of who I am
and tried to bridge the gap
of miles
and years
with inane play-by-play descriptions
of the weather.
Truth is,
we never agreed on enough
to value each other’s opinion
and if respect is earned,
we both weren’t inclined to give.
I know you tried,
but now it doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters now.
The hoar frost is thick this morning.
Jewelled adornments
on every tree and surface.
It dusts the valley
with a regal white,
so pure
that you don’t even miss the green.
Who knew that desolation
could be so beautiful.
I think I’ll take a walk
down to the river later.
There’s a spot where the water’s open
and there’s whitefish there.
I tie my lines
and bait my hooks
the way you taught me
and I am wary of the edge
for good reason.
Time and space have a way
of dulling pain.
I’ve heard that if we remembered pain,
it would drive us crazy.
So maybe I’ve been crazy,
the crazy guy can never tell.
Maybe that’s just how some of us deal
with painful memories,
with life,
with time and space.
I think it’s about time
to get out into the cold,
let it sink into my bones
and spend some time
in the space
of my memories.
HG – 2017
