It's not that I'll never see you.
Odds are time will bring your
beloved face into view
now and then.

No, our parting was not final --
dear one, grant me that! (again!)
But finality hung over this goodbye,
like the end of a volume in a set.
A happy ending for you;
and no one deserves it more.

A comedy of a parting, it was --
a metaphor, I suppose,
if one looks for meaning in life.
I wished to walk you to the train,
to wave as you were borne away.
A fitting and romantic
picture of goodbye.

But, as in a dream, the station
seemed constantly to recede.
Faster you strode,
and, dreamlike, my limbs
grew leaden and would not,
could not keep up.

Go! I said.
You kissed me
and were gone.
I leaned against a sooty sill,
and slowly wiped the lipstick
from my lips.






©2002 Ellen Vanderslice
12 March 2002