She stands under the concrete awning and stares out
at the raindrops beating a tattoo on the sidewalk
I edge past her as I head towards my mother's car
pulled up to the curb with the door hanging open
the upholstery is wet, and I sit down with a cringe
as it soaks into the seat of my dark Levi jeans
"Ask her if she needs a ride," my mother tells me
my face goes red at the idea of talking to that girl
with the leather jacket and the rumpled trousers
a large purse with silver buckles danging from one hand
"She's fine," I insist, glancing at her sideways
My mother watches her in the mirror as we drive away
she hasn't moved, still staring into the rain
suddenly I remember that she had pale eyes
they weren't grey, and they weren't quite green
I don't think she blinked once while we waited
watching the rain from underneath the concrete awning
We turn onto the main road and speed away
I sink back into the damp seat and try to relax
the heater is on full blast and I turn the vent away
"I wonder if she's cold," my mother says loudly
and I think to myself that she must be under that awning
the wind blows under and around in an invisible twister
sucking the warmth right out of you
Mother looks over her shoulder, back along the road
"what if something happens to her?" she asks me
I just shrug at her; "I dunno, Mom. What if?"
She turns around and heads back, refusing to look at me
I just sigh and sit back, wondering what she'll think
when we pull up and honk at her, probably mortified
that she attracted the notice of freaks like us
I'll never be able to pass her by in school ever again
if she saw me she'd duck her head and run on
trying to escape the memory of me and my obtuse mother
We climb the hill towards the parking lot, the rain still
coming down hard, and I watch it stream across the window
the water is still beating a tattoo on the sidewalk
we pull up to the curb, and I peer into the gloom under
the concrete awning, but I see nobody there
She is gone.
How did this poem make you feel?
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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Hi Muirghiel
I was very moved by this poem.
I loved the title 'Gone.' I wondered if it could also have been titled 'What if.'
Our 'what ifs' can stop us from reaching out to others and opportunities for change within ourselves are sometimes lost or gone!
A very thoughtful piece of writing! Well done,
All the best,
Liveddog.
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This is exquisite, my sweet. I wonder about that girl. The one who sat there so aptly described. Had someone picked her up, had she missed her chance at fate interceding. Was she simply gone in an attempt to not be found.
It makes me wonder often when I see someone like that. Should I help them? Would it make a difference in their life if I did? Or would I just be an unwelcome intruder on their already miserable day?
I've missed your words. The softness and flowing cadence you offer your readers. I shall be back more often.
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sad
wonderful but very sad an excellent write
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Reminder
You pull us back to the awkward years when image meant so much. The passenger in us seeks to ignore our fellow sufferers in the various rain storms of our days. Our driver side (conscience, maybe?) attempts to compensate for selfish acts - what happens when we can't??
She is gone.
A brief summary of so many possibilities.
Thought provoking.
Thank you.
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I like the feel of this write ... sometimes, we just get one chance with certain situations and this write expresses this and the feel of unease when we have lost an opportunity.
thanks .. honest write.
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good write
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depressed a bit, not sure if thats what you were going for or not, but we do seem to care more about what people think of us rather than if they need something themselves. i enjoyed this, good job
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right in one
that's exactly what I was going for!
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So casual here in this narrative about kindness, but then one wonders who was the gone girl...why was being normal more important than being kind...well done, has the feeling of a start of a series... PK
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