I'll Return to the Bridge

Tired now…so very tired

I’ve not ever seen her show it

Not like this.

Her glassy eyes stare longingly

From the shade of the front veranda

To the river where

For years she has buried her secrets.

The sea cleanses, purifies, makes whole again

She remains adamant

That so too will she, return to the sea

Like the yard sale Jesus

Hiding horns, abomination

Bought for three dollars

Thirty pieces of silver

For that was what Judas paid

Tossed with all her might

Shattering against the rocks

Blistering in the sun

Till the waves of high tide

Rolled

And made the abomination again whole.

She shifts in her rocker

Hoping her pain goes unnoticed

Tired of the doting

Offers of assistance she never wanted.

82 years, and every day lived

Road tripping to the middle of nowhere

Never minding the outhouses

Never caring for the tourist traps

Just seeking that path less travelled

Seeking the next song, the next poem

The next prophecy, the next

New Age.

A life spent alone

Despite friends, family

On her own

Since the day one slap

Made her say “No more”

She was in this world

Yet so far from it,

Above it

So much more than any gave her credit for

Until, weeks after

That day on the porch

When she dared me to live the life I wanted to and

We fell into her writing

Her world

Finally realizing

The value of the treasure

That returned to the sea

On the back draft of low tide

When she up and flew away.

It's MeetingTheBar at dVersePoets where Victoria Slotto is talking about some real characters.  You'll have to drop in for a pint of poetry to see what I'm talking about.