Our Beloved Page One
Page 1
1963
I sent you away from me to look for our beloved.
I watched you fade in the distant as you walked down the dusty foot-path towards town.
My dull brain craves the lost opportunity to prevail upon you of my broken spirit.
The sun shined brightly on the magnolia trees and blossom azalea bushes, but my vision is locked on your fading figure down that long dusty foot-path.
For hours I stood in the doorway until the evening sky ingest the sun.
Escaping the nuisance sting of mosquitoes, the croaking of frogs, and the longing calls of the loon, I managed to move my stiff body to my knitting chair near the water stain window.
But not a purl could I make, and so I sat consumed with illogical and negative thoughts until the rooster announced the dawn.
An encouraging thought my mind doth not bring as I watched your woeful soul kick up the dust of the foot-path with your shabby boots.
A defeatist frail of a man was you as you made those hesitant steps in my direction.
Perfervid loathing eclipsed my heart as you move nearer and nearer, closing the distance between us.
I did not care to treat the bruises on your face and body.
I did not want to caress you nor offer you consoling words to comfort you and ease your troubled heart.
No, not with an afflicted heart.
No words could explain the emptiness I felt for you.
You grab for me to comfort.
I slapped you and turned away.
A storm was raging inside of me.
Nothing was distinctly visible around me.
I resisted strongly the upsurging of unconsciousness.
No disguises of truth were acceptable.
Continue on page 2
copyright@Library Of Congress Looking At The Light From The Bottom Of The Lake.
Copyright © Mary E.W. Stephenson | Year Posted 2018
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