At the Ellon Bells

Remember that time
on the stroke of midnight
when all the dancers had stopped
twirling and the countdown ended
in that hall -
the young beautiful man
crystalline
but empty like a prism -
I stood, heart in my shoes
he was not there, off
somewhere else in the room,
and I wished, in my beautiful
dress, that I was home
with those
who loved me
all those hundred miles away
but I was cratered, worn
and I did not choose
the right thing:  I stayed
instead of fleeing to my car
and escaping the prison of my
grief.  It all ended badly
eventually
but I always regret that
night where I spent empty
time among strangers
totally alone.  He was a 
gorgeous thief.
Cold as space.

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