Turning lights on mid afternoon - my thoughts
return to
Anne, (1928 - 1974), teacher, friend and listener,
Who sat at table with me, got me to write a poem,
Watching the words meander across the page
Like a desert river slowly evaporating.
This was in Boston - nineteen sixty something -
Myself, barely out of my teens, flown over for
a long weekend -
Some singular saint having paid the airline fare.
That was a weekend rich in love and laughter, but
This autumn 2020 - deep in November lock down -
The weather poised on a knife edge, winter ghosting
into view,
I must come to terms with living solo - as I do, Anne
just a voice on my PC -
Sometimes merely a whisper, sometimes clear and true.
Such memories have become familiar friends, reminding
me who I have been, and who I can be, if I dare.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 17th. - 18th. 2020. - December 2nd. 2020.
Revised January 29th. 2021.
Poem number Five in my November 2020 series.
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