The View From The Gate. Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

We watched from the porch as he passed the bend,
Looking for shadows, or the ghost of a friend.
The lawn is trimmed, the shutters are tight,
But no silhouette moves in the window at night.

'She's gone to the city, ' some say with a nod,
While others think silence is arguably odd.
We trade our guesses like coins in a cup,
Waiting for something to finally blow up.

He carries his groceries, he carries his name,
But we're looking for cracks, we're looking for blame.
It's a quiet tragedy, or so we've agreed
A story we want, but he won't let us read.

T.M.Solvang