Love's Demise
The trees bend now, nearly touch each other
As they lean with age, over the roadway.
He glances up as he lifts the basket,
Every movement carefully taken;
There is no ease, no comfort in this rest.
Their trip passed in silence, landmarks avoided,
Unremarked upon, unnoticed perhaps;
A drive to the shore in their old sedan.
This trip so cautiously planned, to a place
Once so beloved by both, now lies
Filled with trepidation; and resentment.
They sit together at the worn table
Scarred by lovers and children and nature.
Still silent, they pass each other small bits;
Food wrapped in hope, or in desperation,
Or simply tied in old resignation.
The trees seem to mock them, swaying above
In a unison made perfect with time;
Bound together with intertwined branches,
Held together with interlocking stems;
Old upright soldiers, standing side by side
Ravaged by time, by seasons, by nature
And still they stand, bearing witness to these
Lonely, sad lovers, huddled in themselves.
He looks up again. Then checking his watch
Says we should go. It’s really time to go.
Her silence broken also, she answers,
I’m leaving you. Then falls silent once more.
I know, he says. I’ve known for some time now.
Once more he looks up at the trees. Then again
Says we should go. It’s really time to go.
They carefully pack the remains of lunch.
He looks up a final time at the trees
And moves as though to salute. Then he laughs
As if at a joke and turns back toward
The old sedan, canopied beneath leaves;
Silent, shaded witness to love’s demise.
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