Of Myriad Paths
Her home lies across Henderson port.
The ships here chase the sun inland
From east to west and back to east,
a pendulum in a grandfather clock.
Each turn portends finality, but
swings back to begin afresh.
No dock for her eyes, just passing boats,
sleepy giants floating away.
A dim candle on the water, her beacon.
She waits for none, all loved ones gone.
The ships stay far and recede farther,
her loss like a curtain pulled wide and wider,
her life an arrow that left a long while back
to the bow’s relief, out of the archer’s sight
It is easy to move closer to closure.
This untapped beauty, an unmet vigor
was tied back in Savannah, Georgia.
August hot afternoon, her intolerable gown
Craving for wind, blue bells and lilies,
cool shower, lemonade, wet feet in the pond.
The grey and faded wedding picture
adorns the corner of a spartan dresser.
As a child, holding her father’s hand,
she walked the prairies, dreamt of beaches.
Hand-in-hand by the riverside then,
canoe ride and a soft kiss under the shade
of Sycamore trees, where her husband speaks,
of beaches, rivers, and cool breeze.
The river has shared many such dreams
carried away to the ocean in tides.
Where the babies cry their fate away
she lived alone for ninety seasons,
her husband lost with bass and perch,
the turning tide of fate. Where are her kids?
One taken an infant, one lost to war,
the paths were many but for the fear,
like an innocent child, she submitted,
waltzing when spirited were her heels,
long horseback rides when her heart desired
autumn leaves, few, tenacious and hopeful,
dreading the currents will sweep them far.
Was it ever hers, her so-called dream?
Was she right in holding onto it?
Of myriad paths, she chose the one to this port,
Like autumn’s leaves, she shows resilience.
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