Crow’s Feet

I’m not sure when
I stopped thinking of you,
no longer feeling a sharp pain
every time I rolled over.
I know it took years,
but one night
you didn’t cross my mind
every hour, then another
week went by, until I was filled
with a sweet emptiness
that only comes with age,
like crow’s feet
left in the soft ground
around one’s eyes,
a gift from your face to mine.
Surely the dead
mingle among us,
their spirits vying
for our attention,
ever fainter voices trying
to get a word in.
But we’re not listening
most of the time,
so they hang on,
until they see
it’s useless, even though there’s
so much they could tell us
once they’ve left
their graves behind.

2 Comments

  1. Hi Rob, beautiful poem, and I do hope you are healing. I remember you had a different blog, and thought you had disappeared! Very happy to see you are still writing.

    xo
    eden

    1. Thank you, Eden, for your comment. Yes, I’m still writing, though not posting links through Twitter much anymore. My poems have become tighter and more focused, and I post less than I used to, and mostly on Facebook & Instagram.

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