Saturday, January 31, 2009

Poem: For Lonely

For Lonely

Lying on top of you, my arms and knees
support my body even as I grope
for how much of me your frame will carry.

You hold me closer, you’re not heavy. So
I lean a ladder into you, step hard
up, and clamber to the top window

to hear you play Chopin’s Etude in C
Minor. I enter through the window, drop
into your room. I sit down quietly.

You come to a passage hazardous and slow
like footsteps on decaying floorboards
of an old house. The pedal mutes the piano.

Then I become afraid you will not be
playing, beside me, with such quiet hope
forever, for nightfall, for lonely,

and what that will do to me. I tiptoe
to the window while stroking your forehead,
lean back into myself, walk away below.


3 comments:

Russell Ragsdale said...

At thirty-seven you are so young, you have only been teased by the ineveible titalation of age, crows from the countryside laugh at us, they know the age of snow and the name to which it answers. Laugh with us, the old and the young, and walk us into the gathering light of new morning, reveling in the not so funny and all to common joke of love. You, my young friend are lyrical.

Jee Leong Koh said...

Thirty-nine today, a little further to the age of snow you describe so well.

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks Jee and Happy birthday again.