Even if I could remember what was passing through my mind when I was writing this poem thirteen years ago, how important could it be? Stumbling on it today, I’m simply glad that it is a poem; and I’m glad it’s still willing to speak to me. And what does it say? It says, Come in, come in. Whatever it is, whatever it was, is all forgotten and forgiven now.
Closing Time
Through the store window
I see a little girl with an ice cream cone.
Or has she found the end of her very first rainbow?
I go inside. She’s old in this light,
like eighty-five years of uncombed vanilla.
I kiss her before she melts,
as sweet and sad as closing time.
Another scoop, please,
for my field of chocolate loam.
Lay me down.
Lay me down.
Lay me down.
And the bell rings.
And the girl frowns.
And the sun crosses the room.
Next time I promise to be good.
Next time I’ll use a spoon.
Next time I’ll be everything I should
if you’ll only let me in, let me in, let me in . . .
Songs and Letters, July 22, 2007
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Categories: Songs and Letters
Tags: Aging, Childhood, Chocolate, Closing Time, Death, Forgiveness, Ice Cream, Memory, Poems, Poetry, Vanilla, Writing
William Michaelian 