Walking With the Kids
by John P. Kristofco



long shadows on September walks
after dinner, three to take
but one by one
to hear each voice outside the house,
out where they weren't just
one more rattle in the noise;
we'd talk about whatever
in their change of sound and soul
or silent, side by side,
sometimes hand in hand
while that fragile bridge would stand;
our shadows stretched ahead,
distended arms and legs,
puppets of our gawking awkwardly
along the warm concrete;
aimed into infinity,
painted by the falling sun,
a thin veneer of gray
as if it reached to touch the other side
that we could never see until it claimed us
in the autumn chill,
shadowed frames of window sills
beneath the streetlamps
on our way back to
the box that held us
in our unintended choir
singing with what faith we had
in light and dark of days
we never knew
we'd pray would never end





Illya's Honey Literary Journal

Copyright by Dallas Poets Community. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.