The
People I Left Behind
The people
I left behind, ride
subways to work each day. They stand
on streetcorners, panting in July
heat, watch ribbons of birds circling
above cities we used to live in.
They
look to faces of strangers,
keeping something pale, something
pale and intangible inside
their coat pockets, stroking it
with the palms of their hands.
The people
I left behind, wake
every morning in familiar rooms.
Each day a cobweb less falls
from the ceiling, a footprint fades
from the carpet beside the bed.
They
aim to become something more
than shadows, something less
than an inkblot on a pristinely clean
page... And more than this of them
I cannot know.
Copyright © 2001 Mark Melton
