no small thing

It is no small thing to follow the curve,
rock ledged shore line gradually giving way
to lazy, undulating ridges of sand dunes.
A long afternoon’s walk where the flycatchers
dart in and out along the summer tree line,
hign-noon sun glaring sharply off the water
a rare day for seeing White Fish Point
which is too often obscured.

We were here together only once or twice
picking wild blackberries
now it seems I am here with you always
the rusty refrain, a revolving door,
repeating memory bookmarked in the tideline.

I wanted to ask you one last question,
just one. But that question is buried here
scattered as the remaining link between lake shore,
trees and time, unanswered.

I am swallowed up in grief
afraid I will forget the sound of your voice
afraid I will forget the bearing of your face
afraid I will forget the scent of your skin
I chase words in a place my heart
can no longer walk.




The crows call out in the darkening sky
as I piece these words together
and it is no small thing to follow
this curve of beach alone without you.


c.m. brooks ~ 8-18-14

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~ by christinambrooks on August 18, 2014.

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