We reside close to her
both known her for many years
She is here when the soldiers came
flowing and quite imaginary
made of fog
we shudder
eyes playing tricks, silly us
little children
wishing the car to drive faster
past her
“sorry” we whisper.
Singing Dixie Chicks
at the top of our lungs
to her.
She listens and we laugh
I see her and I know
I’m close to the house.
I adore the mysterious tone of this poem, and how I know you intended it to be happy, but it appears so misty and almost sinister.... I love it :)
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