Welcome to another Monday’s Poem of the Week. As I observe the passage of the vignettes around me that make up the great play of life, I often fantasize about the back stories of the players creating the scenes. The following poem is one such imagining.
Propped on one shoulder, a man lies on the grass.
His soft body emanates ease – light glints off his spectacles and rosy scalp.
Hours yet till midday, the lush green carpet makes a pleasant dais
for old bones, now warmed by the sun.
Once in a while his right arm swings up in a lazy arc
as he flings weeds and dead grass into a small mound.
Passing by, I wonder what his life contained before
this morning. Was there a briefcase stretched with documents
or perhaps a stethoscope? And where did the aging white Cadillac
now rusting in the driveway, ferry him in days past?
At present, he labors in elegant solitude, humming
softly, happily absorbed in clearing his designated plot.
Seemingly content to burrow deeper, deeper
into cool, welcoming earth.
- Sylvia S. Villareal
Nice capture of the feeling of a moment 👌
Thanks for taking time to leave your comment. It’s always nice to know I’m not just talking to myself 🙂 Be well.