An old man sits
where he always sits,
where his dog can hear footsteps
at their earliest approach
outside the black-painted front door.
While driving, a man
enjoying his prime
fills with a longtime yearning
for a country home.
Pussy willow branches line the road.
The old man dines early, tray in his lap.
Memories move around
like guests. Through a window,
breeze-blown daffodils
and just-cut grass.
The yearning man pulls off,
turns his car around, drives slowly
past forsythia blooms. He’s
seen some kind of omen.
Made a decision.
The old man’s old dog woofs and trots
toward a sound
his master doesn’t hear.
Both, of course, are devoted
to this daily mystery.
The car owner climbs three steps and knocks
on faded black chipping paint.
He has a plan.
He’ll find the words.
He stands firm, hears shuffling feet.
A door opens
on a musty smell,
also a scowl with a gun.
The homeowner was not
expecting a city-clad stranger.
When my father died, my mother revealed
how he silver-tongued his
purchase of our house.
(I never once heard my father
speak of guns.)
Marjorie Power’s newest full length collection is Sufficient Emptiness, Deerbrook Editions, 2021. A chapbook, Refuses to Suffocate, appeared from Blue Lyra Press in 2019. Epoch, Barrow Street, Mudfish, The Atlanta Review and Southern Poetry Review have taken her poems recently. She lives in Rochester, New York after many years in various western states and can be found at www.marjoriepowerpoet.com .