Car Door by Steve Denehan

Some people cannot bear to be alone
those people are missing the point
today I was alone, gloriously

the kitchen thirstily drank in the flaming light
of this Indian summer
an Indian summer that had waited, calmly
to announce itself in the depths of October

I got drunk on the sweetness of that unexpected sunshine
saw myself stretched in carnival shadows
along warm carpet and across our dozing, ginger cat

it was a world without wind and I stared
at those tall reaching trees, daring them to sway
at the high brazen nettles in the field
at the wide, sharp, long grass
I stared but the only moving thing was me
alive in a painting

I nursed a cup of coffee, tasting it in my nostrils and on my tongue
I watched two concerts from our rocking chair
a rocking chair borne of my father’s mind
hewn by his carpenter’s hands
twenty years before he found me

with aching swoons and orange moons
Scott Matthews took me away before

James Brown brought me back
as he and I stomped our feet and grunted in duet
across miles of time and life and death

these alone days, still, shimmering Indian summer days
breezeless, empty, full days
that lead me to wonder
if life can get much better than this


I hear a car door open on the driveway


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