Now’s the best time for lettin’ go.
–she said as I sat down beside her.
Like the twilight doves, I heard her before I saw her.
Just like the sun’s lettin’ go of it’s light, you gotta
soak those blindin’ things in coolin’ dark. Give ’em time. It’s important, and people forget it.
–her cigarette smoke blurred the wrinkles around her mouth.
Brewing and stewing, anger and worryin’. They foul up ya peace and rob ya of sleep. Can’t see nothin’ clearly without those troublemakers about.
–cigarette gone, her hands stone-stilled in her empty lap.
Time enough when the sun comes up to pick ’em up again. Might find ya don’t need ’em at all. Might need a few. Probably not. Might even be gone.
–she became the night, a sensible voice with contradicting light.
In the walk home, I could recall no face, only cooing echoes of her words, swirls of smokey darkness, and unburdened hands at rest.
Some odd thoughts on letting go, inspired by dVerse Poetics.
Happy Note–Joseph Harker at naming constellations has graciously agreed to critique one of my poems for his Refinery. Please do visit, read and participate. He is currently accepting submissions for critique.