Late Afternoon Under the Weeping Willow in Ashland, Oregon
Two black wrought iron-chairs
and a matching table. An old couple
talks about how the lovers in the play
missed true love, accepted
good enough, veered away
from a leap of faith. Settled.
One actor clung to a dock,
another jumped into mud-suck.
Though each was heir to a salvation,
both lived out their lives
as they had always lived.
Riffles of waterfall backgrounds
the swish of new-spring leaves.
The pair in the stiff chairs?
They recall flash-in-the-pan gold,
the fish that get away, how easy
to err, standing still. Through the veil
of the willow, hand in hand
they meander into evening.
After the sun sets, two empty chairs.
The willow stills after vanished wind.
In the pond the frog chorus sings “creek”
and then “free” and finally, maybe “right,”
mating calls of the warm spring night
tucked in the sweep of the willow’s reach.
Tricia Knoll’s poetry collections include her full-length book Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press, 2016) and her chapbook Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press, 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com
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