8/8/2008

I’ll never forget his appearance.

“I remember the alley and the house; it all used to look so much bigger.”

Pale, blue-green house,

Locked, chain link fence

Closing in the old car with a

Tire on the hood.

Old black jeans, hanging loosely from his thin waist.

“No way! I can’t believe this!”

Cracked sidewalks,

Children pedaling slowly by on

Aged bicycles.

The high school down the street is closed.

Faded blue t-shirt pressing against the new, blue polo.

“It’s been sixteen years.”

No questions to ask.

Everything is clear.

The door is closed.

The small wooden steps can sustain the pressure of the two.

Soiled, worn, only time could know – the red and white hat.

“I want you to meet someone.”

The old truck in the driveway.

The old man sits in his kitchen, smoking.

The door is open.

He knows – we all know – about the letters she wrote.

The once-white tennis shoes must have walked miles in the well-known path - inescapable.

“You’re better off down there.” The

Search leads to honesty and truth.

No empty words. Hesitancy as

Time steals away with the meeting.

The summer sun burns the dry, brown grass.

The frail, exhausted body – sincere embrace.

“Y’all get outta here.”

Fifteen minutes slip away in the moment that does not

Last.

Ten hours into the night – a lifetime – to contemplate the profound experience - reflect.

There is no handbook for the human condition.

–WS 8/20/2008