He still obeys her rules. No dirty boots
on her kitchen floor. Dishes are washed,
put away. Her piano is shuttered, but music
books are still neatly stacked and ready.
It was always more her cabin than his,
except for the little gazebo. She preferred
the porch or lawn where she lounged,
so still, listening, watching. Seasons
passed, she added or subtracted
clothing, moved her chair to find
the sun. Rainy days she leaned back
against the wall by the window, like
she was in a western movie. He sat
inside, looking out at her,
happy, he supposed. He hasn’t yet learned
how to be alone.
James Bourey is an old poet from the Adirondacks. His chapbook "Silence, Interrupted" was published in 2015 by Broadkill River Press. His work has appeared in Mojave River Review, Gargoyle, Stillwater Review and other journals and anthologies in print and online. One of his poems was selected for the Whitman 200 anthology “Endlessly Rocking” to be released May 2019. He can often be found doing readings in public or in the dimness of dark rooms. He is also a contributing editor for The Broadkill Review.