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There are sufficient years to put behind
The hot-cheeked misdemeanors of the past;
The blunders form naïve youth that, at last,
Are rendered harmless by a wiser mind.
So are there miles enough in number, too,
To keep removed from things one grieves the most;
Though if I tarry sometimes with your ghost,
It’s fair exchange for my bequest to you
For, as you mark the highways, something of me
Sings in the broken line; if it could speak
In words, this voice, might it not also break
(Remember, after all, you didn’t love me)—
And tell you what, perhaps, you have been fearing?
“I am not gone; I’ve only stopped appearing.
The hot-cheeked misdemeanors of the past;
The blunders form naïve youth that, at last,
Are rendered harmless by a wiser mind.
So are there miles enough in number, too,
To keep removed from things one grieves the most;
Though if I tarry sometimes with your ghost,
It’s fair exchange for my bequest to you
For, as you mark the highways, something of me
Sings in the broken line; if it could speak
In words, this voice, might it not also break
(Remember, after all, you didn’t love me)—
And tell you what, perhaps, you have been fearing?
“I am not gone; I’ve only stopped appearing.
~ Adrienne Jones
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