You gave your hand

March 13, 2011
By Anonymous

You gave your hand to me,
fingernails imperfectly cut.

Unfinished conversations on cloudy verandas,
dreary mysteries in grey haze.

A vase of violets drooping in the moist mid-morning,
the teapot shaking in your hands,
knife rattling the jar of marmalade, scraping toast;
discordant chorus completed by the clamor of the street beyond the lawn.

Sidewalks and wet leaves just outside the garden gate;
cold rainy evenings, no shops open and again
you gave your hand to me.

Fingernails cracked and long.

Dim caf├ęs, spilt coffee,
chipped cups, unbalanced chairs wobbling
with our words.

Greasy candles bleeding onto
moth-eaten tablecloths.

Re-reading old newspapers,
glancing through the faded past;
yellowed, brittle pages tearing,
torn, dissolved.

Dusty windows and farther still,
setting sun gives way,
end of day.

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