the soul mates

A photograph

of us

at your grandparent's house

in summer

in Sun City Center,

near Tampa.

Smiling.

Me in a white sweater.

We're going to Sanibel,

we're going to leave,

say goodbye to them,

one of us they will never see

again.


They were there at Thanksgiving,

in Baltimore.

The car ride drove me mad,

only to finally relax

the day before we head home.

Your grandfather said

I had pretty feet.

Your grandmother walked

the cold November streets

of Ellicott City.


There was an art shop.

I loved the drawings

of the bare winter trees,

tiny lines,

they must have taken hours-

the pencil shading in the sorrow

through the shadows

and absence of leaves.


Where did they go

only four months apart?

Twin souls

cannot live for long

when torn in half and bleeding

memories

of too many Thanksgivings,

of too many nights,

of too many kisses,

that will never be

enough.

Reviews

[Tara]

Your words are so perfectly placed. There is such emotion in this. I am moved. Thank you.

[An owl on the moon]

Your writing has such depth with a brilliant darkness here, falling like rain. Each line is magnificent story in itself, moving on to the desperation of loss at the end. So very sorry if this reflection is based on a true event in your life...

[Perdition]

I must learn to shade in sorrow...though I deserve the pain of pointillism. I will live with my questions in
the slow groans of every breath...probably read this one a million times over, if only for the cold walk to keep grandma company in your Ellicott City streets alone. Mostly though, I will warm my thoughts in the tiny lines of your art shop in hopes for a nearby cafe where I can drink in these words and stare out over the hills, believing in the soul mates out there sleeping, snug in their nights still to share.