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Bedford
by Richard VinceWhen I think I have managed
To move on, she has a habit
Of reappearing in my memory
Somehow.
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.
02/15/2009 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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