This morning, for no reason at all,
I thought of you.
There's no mystery here.
You've been a tiny lump in my throat
all these years,
making house in the dark.
I imagine you in your other house,
posted behind the kitchen window,
waiting for your children
to step off the bus
and come to you, hungry.
A minute ago
you stumbled in and out of rooms,
looking for a way out.
But it was raining outside
and you too were hungry.
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Comments
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Great
I'm really surprised that no one has ever commented on this poem. It holds such sad resignation and at the same time, fondness for a lover who perhaps no longer ever shows up. She has forsaken her lover for the duty and securities of her household, even though he imagines she still stumbles around, looking for a way out. -
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Agree
But instead of a lover, he might be speaking of his mother or someone in his family.
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