Douglas Brown Poet Free verse

A Detective In the House

The clues are there.
The notes.
The writing.
The phone numbers.
The calendar.
Especially the calendar
holding all the secrets
of what was done and will be done.

He is bent over the cubby-holed desk,
slippers, flannel bathrobe,
searching through the familiar
and seeing only the hidden, 
the missing,
the opaque.

The crime?
Something stolen, precious 
and worse,
it is just out of sight, 
next to the words, 
the notes, the writing,
the calendar.
Especially the calendar.
So obvious the number,
the day,
yet not now the season.

He finds her worried face again
and continues.

All those around him
keep it from him-
the secret is- 
nothing is gone,
nothing was done.

The detective searches
for himself in the clues
of unravelling time.

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Line Gauthier February 11, 2021 at 2:44 PM Touching. A pleasure to find your beautiful poem published in the 2020 PS Anthology, Douglas~

Douglas Brown December 15, 2019 at 10:40 AM This is so beautiful, it could be written about my mother too, as you well know. LOVE, Gail

Richard Lamoureux November 30, 2019 at 9:40 AM Do drop by for a visit. ;0)

Richard Lamoureux November 30, 2019 at 9:39 AM It was a pleasure to read your writing this morning. I would say you are one of the best I have read here at the soup. You have skills my friend. Blessings Rick.

Line Gauthier February 8, 2018 at 8:27 PM Douglas, you have an unbelievable way with words, the reader hangs on to every word, in suspense... wanting to know more.

Leanne Lovejoy-Burton January 3, 2018 at 2:16 PM hmmm, very intriguing. I wonder if the mystery segues into boundary waters.