WHERE SHE USED TO BE.

A MEMORY OF A FIRST LOVE WHO DIED TOO YOUNG. JUDITH 1948-1993.

It was here

they used to come,

he fourteen,

she thirteen,

walking to the church

for choir,

between tombstones,

along

the flagstone path,

she peasant like,

seemingly like

some Russian girl,

treading the tundra

in icy cold,

her scarf tight

about her neck,

her coat buttoned up

to chin's hold,

the dark brown hair

messed up

by the evening

November wind.

Now he stands alone,

she has gone,

some ages passed,

death and time

cutting her down

before her prime,

cancer feeding,

and drawn

and dragged

and gone

into the dark

beyond his sight

into

the eternal night.

He stands

and thinks of her,

and the place

they stood,

and where

they first kissed

beneath a full moon,

embraced in love,

wordless, hugging,

cloaked by the moon's

pushed away shadows,

young love,

searched for

and found,

but then gone,

he his way,

she hers,

the countless moons

have come and gone,

full and waning,

waxed and fled,

now he sees her,

not alive,

but in

his older,

lonely

head.

Reviews

[Nwanna Onyeka Benedict]

Nice piece. Love the imagery. Keep on the good work

[Terry Collett]

Thank you, Nwanna Oneyeka Benedict.