Walking past the old mailbox
and thinking of how many times
I’ve traversed there to collect
the metered mail, the junk mail
the birthday cards and solicitations,
it’s raining again today
making it feel like an old sock
worn too thin with holes in the heel
the sun has yet to make an appearance
as another round of thunder peels off
into the distance like an encore far away
yet close enough to hear…
in these solemn moments
when all is silent in the house
stepping back into it, making the door
creak shut, trying not to disturb
the slumbering home with its constant
creaks and whirrs and electric hums
brick and mortar snoring in this sleepy
corner of the block.
Casting one last glance outside
I imagine far different days than these
days in which we try to grasp,
hold onto for dear life, treasure deeply
breathe in their fragrances
yet they disappear far too soon
but the magic is never too far away
it still resounds, a myriad of choral sounds
beckoning us back to a place that will never
come.
Still we sigh, casting out our hopes and dreams
into a net of maybes and hopefully’s as I shut the door
tomorrow steps up to the front stoop
and begins its knocking.
