by Richard Vince

When I think I have managed
To move on, she has a habit
Of reappearing in my memory

A part of me wishes I could
Tell her I was thinking of her
As I passed through the
Unfamiliar town where
She went to school.

The rest of me knows that
The her I would tell is
Not there to be told;
That the friend I almost had
Now seems to have existed
Not in an alien metropolitan world
Of theatres and coffee shops,
But in my imagination.

Neither the face I saw across
Distant sushi bar tables,
Nor the mysterious town
Through which I pass so often
Nowadays, belonged to the one
I try to forget but still
Find myself seeking.

I hope I cease to look soon,
For she is no more substantial
Than evaporating morning frost;
Merely a ghost conjured from
The mists of my mind.


Posted on 03/01/2009
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 03/01/09 at 11:10 PM

Some fine storytelling in this one. You set the tone for the scene effortlessly, and our attention is locked in until that great last stanza.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/04/09 at 12:23 AM

There is a ghostly wistfulness that I like here. There is something solid about the unfamiliar town that grounds this, even as I fade divinely into that last evaporating stanza.

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