Missing Someone Never Met

She misses him,

"Wide Brimmed Hat"
by Polish artist Tamara De Lempicka,
1933

the man she thought
that he'd become, if given
time (she gave that, and
much more), a man who truly
loved her to his very core, who
yearned for understanding of
each cell, each nook and
cranny of her intellect, her
laughter, smile, the mole there
on her back a thing of wonder
just because she wears it well.
He'd tell you that he loves her,
as he tells her now and then if
something in her eyes breaks
through the barriers and frightens
him. It's clear his definition is as far
from hers as Now is far from Then,
back when she fell in love, not
with a man, but with the man
she thought that he'd become
but never did. She misses someone
met in dreams, in tearful prayers,
time wasted on a spectral lover
who was never real.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2015

Drift

Two lovers in two boats have rowed out,

"Misty Morning Boat" on Flickr.com
https://c1.staticflickr.com/7/6151/
6175223698_15e69b655b_b.jpg

meeting in the middle, and such hours
they spend beneath the clouds and then
the stars, and when it rains they laugh and
bail as fast as can be done until the sun
comes out again and the food and wine
is shared across the sides, because they've
tied the boats together, drifting as a unit
on the gentle current. And then there is
some disagreement about which
direction they should take, and ugly words
bounce off the water all around them.
And perhaps they rest, and one of them gives in,
and so they can continue on the journey.
Or maybe something of a storm comes up,
too strong for either one to handle, and
they try to weather it together, but the
rope becomes too loose and no one
notices because the fog is thick.
Whatever reason, they just drift apart,
so far apart that when their boats find solid ground,
they find themselves on either side,
too tired to row back, relieved to climb out
onto solid ground, and curl up on the shore
and sleep so deeply that when they awake
they won't remember why they thought
to go out boating earlier at all.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014