On a windy Tuesday evening,
With the sky a murky grey
A woman sat upon a park bench,
As she did every day.
The sky matched her hair,
The rain matched her gloom
As she reminisced upon looking,
Into every house's rooms.
In the first house on the lane,
Sat a couple at the table
Arguing over dinner,
To compromise- they were unable.
In seconds they quit their fighting,
Then took each other's hands
Around the living room,
Lovingly, they danced.
They reminded her of herself,
And her love who'd died of age
She couldn't fathom living,
Alone in her last stage.
Their neighbours paced the halls,
Hoping for a minute of sleep
Alas, their baby girl-
Had them wading deep.
She wailed endlessly,
In her father's arms
Her mother tried distracting her,
With all kinds of trinkets and charms.
The woman smiled to herself,
As she recalled her younger days
Cradling her oldest daughter,
Trying to make her play.
In the third house from the right,
There sat a family
Chatting away and eating,
In front of the T.V.
The son and the daughter,
Snatched the remote from each other
They teased and mocked and punched,
Like every sister and brother.
The woman chuckled to herself,
Relieved that she was done
Being the boring parent,
Who stopped all the fun.
She remembered family dinners,
Charades on Friday night
Monday morning tantrums,
On Sundays, flying kites.
In front of the fourth house,
A family bid a tearful goodbye
To their child who was no more,
A child in the world's eyes.
Suitcases were lined up,
A taxi pulled down the street
Last hugs were given out,
As they watched their son retreat.
The woman gazed at them,
Immersed in her memories
Years ago, she'd been there too,
Letting go of her babies.
She wasn't always this lonely,
There was a time when she too-
Had a family to look after,
And a million chores to do.
In the fifth house there was a crowd,
A mob all dressed in black
Tears dripped from their eyes,
Any happiness- they lacked.
In the centre of the room,
Sat a woman wrinkled with age
She clutched a picture to her heart,
Her face contorted in rage.
She was replacing her grief with anger,
Thought the woman on the bench
She knew, for she had been there,
Drowning in the same trench.
When her beloved had left her,
She'd never felt so alone
Despite her children calling her,
Daily on her phone.
By the time she took a glance,
At the last house on the lane
Her face was blotched with tears,
Her mind was numb with pain.
She'd reached the finish line,
It was time to start again
In heaven's little waiting room,
She was prepared to meet her end
She'd lived here for so long,
But she needed to mount another trail
The feeling was bitter sweet,
As she read the sign 'For Sale'.
~Via
YOU ARE READING
Magnolia
Poetry❝When you're in a dark place, you tend to think that you've been buried. Perhaps you've been planted. Bloom.❞
