1/10/12

HE'D TELL ABOUT THAT DAY
By John Byrne


He’d tell about that day, and she
Would not remember anything:
Not hike, nor snow beneath the trees,
Nor birds, nor river glistening
Beside the sun-warmed rock she’d sat
Upon as he massaged her feet,
Nor how he said, while looking at
Her eyes, “You make me feel complete.”

The years moved lines around a bit:
Less breeze, more snow, more sun, no birds,
But pleasure he took telling it
Stayed steady through the changing words
And rock or stump on which she sat
Was always there, as were her feet,
As was his steady staring at
The beauty that made him complete.

He did not mind her frequent claim
That he had made the whole day up
For fact or fiction, it remained
A pleasure that would never stop.
In turn, she never seemed to care
That facts would drift as facts will do
So long as she and he were there,
All misreported facts seemed true.

And sometimes when a funk set in,
She’d take a turn in telling how
He looked directly at her when
Massaging feet that trod through snow.
And if her telling missed some facts,
He still could not avoid the thrill
No honest telling ever lacked,
And, back and forth, none ever will.


- - -
John Byrne lives in Albany, Oregon. He writes short stories, short poems, and short plays. This verse arose from a hike and my wife and I took at Mount Lassen.