It didn’t seem to matter the door was open.
She wasn’t coming in.
October. Set behind, the graveyard’s maw
Gaped wide, wizened as a frog
On the banks of the slug-a-bed creek,
Quiet, waiting.
.
No, it was she, cloth-coat Catholic,
North Side, I pegged — she, maybe 50, not so much
Scurrying, but grim in her persistent stride —
Like the rise in the low wind outside the hotel
Almost tuneful, she was the one object in the night
That mattered: seeking, eyes intent, wondering
Where he had gone on his side of the grave.
.
From the warm red lobby my eyes followed her.
Another autumn Sunday night: no time to save.
..
submitted by /u/ColdBlackWater
[link] [comments] It didn’t seem to matter the door was open. She wasn’t coming in. October. Set behind, the graveyard’s maw Gaped wide, wizened as a frog On the banks of the slug-a-bed creek, Quiet, waiting. . No, it was she, cloth-coat Catholic, North Side, I pegged — she, maybe 50, not so much Scurrying, but grim in her persistent stride — Like the rise in the low wind outside the hotel Almost tuneful, she was the one object in the night That mattered: seeking, eyes intent, wondering Where he had gone on his side of the grave. . From the warm red lobby my eyes followed her. Another autumn Sunday night: no time to save. .. r/ChurchOfCharlesFort submitted by /u/ColdBlackWater [link] [comments]
