Ron Willis

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Oklahoma

Ceramic Jesus shatters on the hardwood floor,
no one is saving me on this brilliant afternoon.
Heat shimmers like horses galloping across an Oklahoma blacktop,
exhaust from a Greyhound bus settles in the air, and the light
I so desperately rely on is gone and won't be back
anytime soon.

Wilted Chrysanthemums melt onto an oak mantle,
a reminder of a simpler mood from just yesterday.
Milk sours on a bedside table cluttered with keepsakes,
notes and goodbye letters I haven't the courage to read.
Slippers tossed beneath the bed are a cruel joke
by one gone away.

A hot wind rolls through the bedroom window,
leaves me breathless, with little hope of any relief.
Curtains flutter, and a door slams shut, I run to
see if she's come back, cutting my heel
on a shattered Jesus. Now I'm without, and bleeding,
in doubt and belief.

Cats in candlelight shadows, reflected on midnight walls,
where sleep is denied by ill-timed pride, Jim Beam
and ghosts. And old dog dreams in slumber
on the porch, he knows she isn't coming back.
A souvenir clock taps away time, but time isn't
all it seems.

Yesterday, or a thousand years, I don't know which,
I've been aching over words now come undone.
I read her goodbyes and I answer each word
with the heartache of a man who can't face heartache.
I didn't say goodbye, not with words or eyes
or screaming at the sun.

I awake to another contrary Oklahoma day,
pieces of Jesus still scattered across a hardwood floor.
Faith is a funny thing, it finds you sleeping, and likely
as not, tries not to wake you. Faith will threaten
second chances, when life already has walked
out the door.

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