Poem: Seattle Journey

Seattle Journey


I wait, alert, silent and listening
prepare for my journey to Seattle
sit on my bed, feel the air on my face
softly place shirts in an empty suitcase
Shakespeare’s sibilant sonnets 
in the waiting corner
two pens and paper for company
surprised as I pick up my guitar
alone in the corner
untouched for so long 
my gentle songs re-emerge, calling to
a frozen February birthday
decades of Winters

I get up walk outside
the grass brittle cracking
succumbing under my treadless boots
pull out a worn ladder from the garage
walk alone to the ancient oak tree
hold my Grandfather’s clippers
handles worn satin smooth
bleached by time and calloused hands
and trim the waiting dead off the reaching limbs

     Glenn Feole

February, 2017

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