This was the place where plants peered
out of the windows, where rubber spatulas
and assorted utensils sprouted out of a variety
of glass jars. They filled your windowsill.
It was there where our love grew like a flower
waiting for the gentle caress of the morning sun.
One day, the sun came up, and the sill was bare.
Our friendship was a respite in the midst of the
storm. Your storm ceased. You decided to go
back to the northwest you held so dear.
My storm continued east, but finally came to an
end. I wonder about you after all these years.
I even catch myself saying your name when the
warmth of the sun fills my kitchen garden.
Copyright © 2013 Alan L. Slaff, selected from
“The Boy in the Mirror (2nd Edition)”