TheFeatheredSleep – memory, recognition, encounter
Patricia, before fame
Played for keeps.
Competition was her muse
She wrote her first book
Won the acalades she sought
Changed her face in surgeons chair
And still
In the pages of her, I read quiet despair
A pervasive loneliness in loose leafed characters
They screamed on her behalf, when she could only
Type help.
And
You, today, walking, lost
With large red dog
And small foot tattoo
You had the same shape
An edge to your corners, as sharp as spite
A quietude and a silence, sadness set firm in your eyes.
I wanted to ask
Why?
Or reveal what I already knew
In just having met, the corners and the distance
No match for feeling, across tow path
And into that personal space, where you laid your sorrow out
I smiled a great smile
Thinking …
Can a smile impart a hundred thoughts?
You passed, and the wetness…
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