Poetry

The Gravelled Path


As I walked out of church, I saw
her car in the lot.
Was she behind me in the church,
perhaps looking now at the back of my head
and dragging her feet?
Or perhaps disengaging herself
from a hearty greeter
in hopes of catching me up?
 
The marbled sky was casting
an unreal light on the cars
and the people approaching the cars.
The crunch of feet on the gravelled path
was static in my ears.
Perhaps she wasn’t aware
I was at the service.
 
Some people were calling goodbyes
to one another.
Others were stopped in small groups,
awkward and lingering.
Dinner would be ready.
I knelt by the side of the path
and untied my shoe.
0 comments
Post a comment