William B. Watterson

(23 August 1943)

Parting


Standing together
on a paint-chipped platform
by a weather-scarred station,
they kissed
and vowed
an undying love.
He boarded his train,
soon to post
across the nation;
she waved
a limp, unfeeling glove.

Leaning against
a rickety,
wooden railing,
she peered
at one last, dim car
blending with the blue
of the horizon
(her forced love
like the distant train
already waning)
where soon
an azure sky
would fade
to a dusky hue.

The flame
from a single match
briefly renewed
the dying day
as it transmitted
a florid glow
to her cigarette,
and she felt confident
of one
now on his way
to meet her
at a time and place
they had set.

Letters would come,
she knew,
but they would lie
unopened,
sad, dwindling remnants
of a love
born but to die.

Submitted: Saturday, February 25, 2012
Edited: Sunday, December 08, 2013
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