wishing you were here

. . . . . .sitting, with brief episodes of walking, pacing. there i was, right by the riverfront.  there, majestically stood the city.  a heavy curtain of  fog was starting to lift,   as the daylight broke,  giving the city an overcast illusion.  good morning.  and there i am, possibly sitting in the best seat in the house.  not because of the town i was standing in, but because what stood before me, on the northern bank of the ohio. behind me, the mile long freight train whistle blows. and as it’s crossing the old iron bridge, you can hear  the click clack of the wheels hitting the rail joints.  a deep breath, i sigh. i look around, american football autumn day, i’ll come back,  baseball springtime game.  the water has a calm current today, as the small soft riverbank surf washes up by my feet. i take the short walk over the bridge.  trying not to look down through the grated floor below, i keep my eye on the passing of boats.  as the bridge walk ends, there the city starts. // window shopping for a while, passing the time,  local shoppes,  big time merchants.  in town grocer, mom and pop farmers market.  the hustle of the traffic, a distant scream of sirens. i pass an office building covered in marble, shiny metal moldings, offering me satisfaction for my hunger, all too modern.   so i left before i got into it. and i head towards walnut and find the local pub.  and as i grabbed the golden door handle, a memory snapped into mind, and there we were, five years ago.  blue eyes and all,  all other surroundings blurred.  sharing a  rendezvous  with conversations that could have gone on forever. and now they were just plain over.  i opened  the door and walk through a maze of tables and chairs, and once there,   i sat at the corner booth and order myself  an author g,  and i find myself  missing  you again.  the lunchtime crowd filters in and as quickly as it came, it went.  and like the wind in the trees, i never did see you come in. the little bit of hope dashed and disappeared. the number of times  i thought about letting you know that i was in town, never equaled to such.  memories flood, and i grab my last sip. i must move on.  leaving the scent of  fish and chips for the sounds of downtown traffic honks and loud highway parties, i wait for the walk sign to turn, i push up my cuff and read the time. quarter past one. still early,  but way too late.  i cross where the cars have halted and came across vine.  a street where a king’s court reigned and looked down upon me,  never giving them a second glance.  there, a few blocks down,  the shadow of the genus of water covered the brightness of the sun from my eyes for a moment  and  i looked up upon the bronzed statues, a breeze blows, and a cool mist from the falling water floats by.  studying the faces of all the statues, i walk around it. and i come across a crowd of people clapping and cheering around this girl, seeing that a man just proposed. and a crooked grin of  happiness came across my face. and i paused. i lingered. frozen as if i was a part of the fountain.  and there, i turn a quick pace back to where i started. and as quickly as i walk, the memories flood back to me. it was here in this city, the town i fell in love with,  i fell in love with her.  there was no real escaping her or the memory of her haunting beauty,  just like thew city,  itself.   all i was doing was looking for some  r&r  and the memory caught up with me, it wasn’t supposed to, but it found me.   back to my new  favourite  walnut street pub,  i order another author g and pull out a scratch piece of paper and jot down  a few lines.   word here, sip,  word there.  and like a bad habit,  i look at my watch again, three o’clock. early enough to where i’m the only soul in the place.  silence and room to think.   i take my drink and move to the same corner booth i had earlier.   there i sit and do some serious thinking about everything.  and as i take another sip, i glance and notice that a couple of corporate hot-shots walk in and walk up to the bar and order themselves a drink.   it’s now ten past four.   the after work crowd starts trickling through.  it’s where the corporate big timers mix with the blue collars. sharing a pint, throwing darts, we are all the same after four or five.  looking down on the piece of paper i was writing on, it is now full.  i reach in my blazers inside pocket and pinch a piece of paper out of it. and as i unfold it, i notice that it already had some writing scribbled on it.  and there, in front of me was the same piece of paper i received from you five years ago with your number on it.  i laugh at first, because i realize that i  haven’t cleaned out my jacket in a while.  finishing off my drink, i reach in my front pocket of my jacket and push in those numbers that i have come accustomed to dialing in my sleep.  one at a time, heart beats faster, doubt arises,  last number and all i need to do is to hit send. . .i take one deep breath. . . .  i freeze for a moment,  and  i hear her voice,  “hello?”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .c. 2013 BGW

About bradford graham west

enjoy poetry about life, emotion and everything in between. it's real and true. - please read and enjoy! - bgw
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s