A friend from college wrote me today about my poetry--poetry from those halcyon college years. I thought I'd check my page here for poems and found this one. I think it's the kind that those of you who have loved and lost or even loved and stayed, might read and like.
The Empty Wind
Listen, hear that?
What, Zelda?
The wind. It's sighing.
I cock an ear.
Sounds more like whistling.
No. It's the sad wind, the forlorn wind
The wind of dying dreams.
It sighs for never loves.
What rubbish. What are 'never loves' anyway?
You don't know? They're the people who
Long to love and never find it who
Pray for love, wish on stars for love, look into each face that passes
Thinking, "He's the one."
The one who wakes up each morning believing that today will be the day when
He'll meet her
Their eyes will lock and he will whisper, "She's the one."
They never give up.
Well, that's just stupid. At some point isn't it better to move on?
Fashion your own life?
Make your own way?
Zelda stubbed her cigar out. "Tell me something.
What's the first thing you think about when you wake?
Breakfast.
Liar.
Okay, the weather.
Tommy brings a fresh drink to Zelda. She tosses it in my lap.
Used to this treatment, I mop it up and order another.
A pregnant silence ensues. I know
From experience
That Zelda cannot stand pregnant silences. I wait.
"Liar." She spits it out unwillingly.
"Yes. I think of him."
She leans forward, cheeks tense,
Chin wobbly.
"Him? Who?"
"Him who isn't afraid. Him whose eyes light up when challenged.
Who has a story to match every story, but remembers
All mine. The man with a mind that never sleeps
Except with me.
Zelda sips her martini.
The wind whips the curtains into dust devils.
Far out in the bay a water spout rises, rips the clouds apart,
and falls back exhausted into the deep.
Finally she says
Never love.
I know, Zelda. I know.
