Estranged Memories

Rumor is

She still wears a bare back evening dress

As she walks the graveled path with martini in hand,

Arriving for the nightly visit with her stallion,

Telling him in between sips of melancholy

More secrets no one else hears or knows about.

Rumor was

In her earlier years,

She used to walk down to her lake of dreams,

Strip and submerge her body,

All the while knowing someone

Was eyeing her every move,

Even hearing the melody she hummed off key,

A favorite from days of passion.

Rumor is now dispelled,

As the elderly neighbor

Had been watching her for decades,

Often indulging his own depression of spirit,

Moving across the weed infested lot,

Up steps to the woman’s porch of dreams,

Rock on the deck swing a few minutes,

Place a red rose at her doorstep

And listen for what he hoped

Would be laughter,

Dancing,

And the once familiar,

Now evanescent

Clinking of two glasses

To flourishing dreams.