Nothing Ever Dies
I’m parked
near a
blue bench
on a
grassy knoll
that I
sat on
twenty years ago,
George Stillman
beside me
in his
wheelchair after
his stroke
that left
him speechless &
unable to move.
I’d been
pushing George
around the
park &
now we
were taking
a rest.
I talked
about some
of the
experiences
we’d shared
in the
twenty years
we’d known
each other &
George listened,
not his
strong suit.
Sitting here
now on a
dark overcast
day with
the first
hint of
winter in
the air
I sense
our presence
back then,
me on
the bench
George in
his wheelchair.
Time vanishes
& nothing
ever dies.
