See You in Seattle - Flipbook - Page 17
17
viii.
part 1
I feel…
I feel again.
I feel a swelling undercurrent. I pause—is love a lifetime of longing?
The undercurrent murmurs
like a bobbing float,
a lowly pop
set amongst the backdrop
of crashing waves and sizzling white wash.
Years of yearning are twisted into harbor rope,
naval knots tied up and down
with emotional black eyes and healed affairs;
strayed thread shedding with each blink of the eye,
swaying; words we walked away from, instead of saying.
Hope swings in the rearview mirror like a rabbit’s foot,
souvenir of our vacations.
The innocent kids who loved, playing.
We were just kids,
latchkey kids
with parents gone just long enough.
