An Extra Time

An Extra Time


Thought about you today,
seeing a photo of a bench near a pond.
It reminded me of a poem I need to write
prompted by a similar scene.

But I'm not going to write that poem--
the one where I sit there alone,
or the one where I can still feel you alongside of me,
or even the one about
still finding joy in our place.

I could write a poem of the solitude here,
or how the still waters reflect far more
than trees and fair blue sky that isn't 'your' blue,
or of how the sunnies dart and flash
seeking food for thought.

I might (but I won't)
write of an empty bench that once
two lovers rested upon, two lovers
long gone beyond reach or merely
to some other place where they'll seek
new benches and pretty places.

Instead, I shall write of what
I won't (or can't) write about
because I will not yet think
about the days when I might sit here alone,
missing you and wishing you were here.

Instead, I shall think of this
as a place yet for us to discover together,
as a place not of loneliness but of respite
for sore knees on a daily walk
with you by my side.

Instead, I shall write of journeys to come,
or memories still to be made and shared
on a lovely bench near a quiet pond.
And then, when finished, I'll wait for your
lunchtime call and tell you I love you
an extra time.