The Old Journal

watching as fingers of light

reach across the sky

burning holes in the early evening

the leaves on the trees outside

seemed to tremble with portent

unable to contain their excitement

at the change in the atmosphere

you could almost smell the burned ions

of spent electricity in the air

as thunder rumbled the shutters

of the old house

making windows shake

thoughts wandering aimlessly

her words like fragments of glass

scraping at his memories

will she return to fill the empty places

where darkness has a sad sound

and loneliness seemed perched

on phone lines like crows

her journal still on the beach chair

 where she left it

she glanced back only once

at her old journal

where ink from the words

smeared and ran across folded pages

dripping off the edges of the journal

into the sand then swirled out to the sea

Carole Mathys

November 3, 2010