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.