Where Are You Now?
You sit near the window
arms slack, legs splayed
head slightly bowed and tilting to the right,
flecks of skin gathered above your brow,
whiskers highlighted by the sun,
short silver spikes casting no shadows,
I wipe the saliva from your chin,
lean closer, I want to memorize the feel
of my lips on your skin,
my hand resting on your shoulder.
I want to remember this moment
while you’re still with me in some way.
But, where is the rest of you now?
on the golf course,
wet grass soaking your canvas shoes
in the six-footer out on the bay,
quietly drifting, waiting for a bite
in the driver’s seat of the Ford wagon,
kids akimbo in the back, out for a Sunday ride
at the Fox Chase library,
selecting books by Hesse, Fowles, Thurber, Lardner
a paradise of possibilities
Christine McKee has played around the edges of poetry for many years while pursuing meaningful employment. Now that retirement is on the horizon, she understands her past folly and has reversed her priorities. Some of poems have been published in the Bucks County Writer and L’Stange Café. Other interests include opera, travel, reading, and being outdoors.