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Post by denise on Jul 16, 2024 11:05:12 GMT -5
Last Walk
She used to love to walk, with purpose
-or none- at all hours, on myriad quests.
Had it been weeks or months since she’d pulled on her treads,
and weaved her way through city crowds or rock-strewn paths?
Some days, the promise of an Angel Wing or Moon Beam shell beckoned,
treasures to be found at the beach where she was blessed to live.
The best part? Sharing the joys of her adventure with him, seeing his face
reflect her passion for the journey, for the creatures she’d encountered,
It was time, she thought, time to find that bliss that had always
come with a brief jaunt or leisurely stroll through familiar streets, stopping
only to acknowledge a neighbor’s wave or the mailman’s grin.
That day, the sky was a fuzzy blend of greys and creams with a dash of black
but not a trace of blue. Was there a storm coming? Was that why she saw no one else,
why not even one dog was walking his master?
As a flash of lightening split the clouds, her instinct was to run,
to cut her walk short,
rush home to share the blur of half-formed
thoughts waiting to be spoken.
Which was when she remembered: there was no need,
no need to run, no need to speak - because now,
now, there was no one listening.
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Post by bluebird on Jul 16, 2024 16:57:42 GMT -5
Wow, I was with you all the way on this one...at first reading, puzzled by the line
break between "to cut her walk short" and "rush home..." but on a second reading
it made sense and in fact lent a kind of electric shock to the poem...and that was
where the poem turned into a kind of mysterious place where "there was no one
listening."
I liked reading this poem and thinking about it. Images like a neighbor's wave or mailman's
grin are comforting and familiar....this is a poem I would like to read aloud and feel
(rather than think) about.
K. Bluebird.
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Post by susank on Jul 16, 2024 17:03:45 GMT -5
Beautiful, heartbreaking ending. I think the poem needs more of that - the suggestion that something/someone is missing, so while it's time to get back to the world, the world is not the same.
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Post by Gerry on Jul 19, 2024 11:35:57 GMT -5
Denise there's so much to admire in this poem, so much to go wow to, particularly the ending. But I wish I had a bit more clarity in the poem, wish I had a clearer sense of the relationship here. I might also suggest to be careful of relying on rhetorical questions to move a poem down the page. Or asking one ("The best part?") and then answering it. I get that such strategies may feel colloquial, but the latter feels too casual, the former like you're not engaging the material as fully as you can. Still, the ending is dynamite. It's just not earned fully yet. |
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