Letter to a Friend Gray in your hair...well maybe it was just the weather...

You know where clouds come from? Gray clouds? I do. I know where clouds come from Because I spend so much time on my back Looking at nothing in particular. Storms come from memory...clouds, too... There was gray in your hair, lines around your eyes. Lines of lovers in your memory, waiting to get in... Waiting to get out... Waiting to be let go... You spend so much time waiting. Sort of like me but not like me. You're not looking...not at all... The so-many platitudes of love that made you unfaithful. And I had my own platitudes, crowded together like 45's in a jukebox, Platitudes that made me jealous. I've grown, I don't listen to those old songs, I'm no longer deceived by music. I listen to thunder...it comes toward me... Or simply moves away... Your thin hands clutched that pendant next to your heart. A cameo brooch...and a lock of hair... Why hold on to those two? Just those two when your body imprisons so many? Their voices sound like a rising wind, Like storm-driven branches scratching at the window panes... Window panes in that house on Cypress Street Where so much went wrong for love. I'd blow you a kiss But you wouldn't notice... Not with all those memories... Not with all those tumbling clouds... I know why there's gray in your hair. That's why I'm sending you this letter. To tell you why... You can believe me or not. You can discard this letter...or not. Because it's all there in the sound of rain Dan Essman 3-12-2012

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