Young Georgia Poem by Christian Allen

“I will sail for you, Darling, on an ocean to your heart”

November, chilly not cold
A note rests on the porch, bold
Leaves are dead, yellowed and old
A breeze blows in, from the ocean to the east
As memories of you tickle, and tease.

I remember this house, built in early June.
Children laughing on the lawn.
The door smells of smoke, and hints of age.
The piano rests and isn’t played.
The back gate, rusted and used.
Singing songs, as the birds have mused.

You image, how could I forget?
But it grows fainter yet.
With eyes of fire, lips of ice.
Saturday’s dress, red Polk-a-dots.
What did you find so funny,
Laughing as you baked in the kitchen?

Do you remember down by the creek,
Why do they call it Sweet Water, I asked.
We swam, and the answer came to us.
Lemonade after lunch, on the grass.

My impolite shoes creak the floor,
The old wood is not warm,
But cold, like the depths,
Of the confession within my heart for you.

I would have thought it impossible,
Before I left for Fredericksburg,
To love so deeply, so desperately.


Ah, the tire-swing catches my eye,
It’s rope is tattered, frayed, and worn.
I can’t help but see you, laughing.

The wind blows heavier, now
As if calling me inside,
I listen and, obedient, follow
The steps you took,
Nine summers before.

The fire place, where Daddy sat,
His pipe peeking from his lips,
Is now where I rest, clutching to the note,
I scan, searching, from your brother.

I regret, he drags, to tell you,
That Virginia,
Inevitably flawless with a name so sweet,
Has passed, and drifted on,
As though by a fall wind,

I remember these thinks,
The fire place smolders.
As I weep, memories of you,
Spill from my face.