The Spark - Poem by Jeffery Conway
I was telling a story
about the pet chicken
I had as a kid-Pecky,
gray, benign, good egg producer
in our suburban backyard-
an animal I loved and protected
until my parents' ultimatum:
'Pecky or a pool.'
Through the cackle of the other
guests' laughter, I heard your eyes,
beacons at the opposite end
of the table, past
the vase of blue hydrangeas
and the glow of two lit candles.
Later, as the party broke up,
I left without saying good-bye.
At midnight, alone in bed,
a fogged-horn night,
I heard your devious voice call
out like light from the sand-dashed
street in front of the cottage:
'Jeffery. Jeffery. Are you awake? '
Comments about The Spark by Jeffery Conway
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You