elysabeth faslund

Rookie (11/23/49 / Thibodaux. Louisiana)

Driftwood And The Widow - Poem by elysabeth faslund

She'd forgotten walks along driftwood beaches,
Meandering hand-in-hand...long ago...
One of them picked up an interesting piece,
Then home,
Above the fireplace.
It had a home.
Forever.

She walks to the supermarket, smartly dressed...
Decisions between wheat or white flour.
The produce section makes her take a little,
Pink pill.
Her hands are laced with gold...a band, other
Things, grace her lotioned hands and body.
She's sold her life for Island Cruises...alone.
Perhaps.

The driftwood lives on the mantle, but now,
When she sees it...she makes an excuse...
An errand. Mostly driving as long as she can.

One day, she doesn't know when yet...they'll
Walk that beach. Watching horizon clouds,
Leaving their footprints as before...and choose
One, unusual piece of driftwood to keep the
Other company.

The young choice...the old.
Two pieces of driftwood,
Side by side.


Comments about Driftwood And The Widow by elysabeth faslund

  • (9/12/2008 4:00:00 PM)

    May you find your 'driftwood' someday... Nice write. (Report) Reply

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  • (8/9/2007 8:45:00 PM)

    Very poignant with a great sense of mystery. We know that the driftwood is a treasure that might reenter the persona's life. Another walk and there it will be - unsought but known immediately for the treasure that it is. (Report) Reply

  • (6/9/2007 2:51:00 AM)

    This is beautiful Elysabeth. The word driftwood says so much. A 'found' object, a bleached symbol of something loved and lost. A choice regretted. You say so much between the lines and your final stanza is perfect. The past and the present, coalescing. love, Allie xxxx (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Friday, June 8, 2007

Poem Edited: Wednesday, March 9, 2011


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