That Time We Went Away

That time we went away, my poems came like naked village girls, young and ripe, and petalled like the scarlet passion flower. Winging their way over hot verandas, transparent seas, they came, full of prey.

Early in the day my songs like sails were driven, bringing forth my winnowing love for you. I wrote for you in haste of breath, page after page, an avalanche. Words leapt from the paper and flew the westward winds, past the drowsing chauffeurs, the chrysanthemumed courtyards shaded from the swallowing heat. Each dusk brought you, to fill my arms.

Now, back home, despite my relevant words, I see you only in memory-- I so wanted you to last…. but the sawed-off sun comes, spilling out its light, its hard rays unravel my sun-washed traveler’s tale.

My days dissolve into short hope because, I know you, sure as death, will blur into the past…. My poems lie on the table, blind skeletons…. rhymes shivering in the tomb of time-- whining for their lost frenzy. Your fading apparition hovers overhead-- scant savings of that time we went away.

Patricia Kelly Gangas from her 3rd book of poetry, These Places Of Light

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