downeastener
Wilson, NC
age: 55
| The red ribbon
The voice of the mail orderly was weak,
as he hollered the names last week.
I strained my ears to hear my name,
hoping that the results wouldn't be the same.
Then, like the sun breaking through a cloud,
it was pronounced clear and loud.
All my men turn to see,
if the letter was actually for me.
Each one took his turn handing the mail sack,
all wear smiling and patting each other on the back.
The slight rain had smudge the ink,
I held it in my hand not knowing what to think.
It had been months, maybe a year,
the frazzled end of the envelope I begin to tear.
It fell from the inside,
a single red ribbon, you could tell it had been untied.
It drifted forever to the ground,
the air around me vanished, there was not a sound.
It had held her hair,
I remember because I put it there.
I said this is what ties you to me,
as long as you wear it, we will always be.
I am not sure if it was the rain or a tear,
that made me realize my deepest fear.
I thought not knowing was a cruelty unmatched,
but little did I realize how much pain can be dispatched.
There was no words needed,
the garden of betrayal had been seeded.
I blamed her then I blamed me,
for the things I didn't see,
her loneliness, the countless nights wondering,
the fear of having to hear the bugles thundering.
The ribbon began to sink into the mud in which it had landed,
being readily accepted by it, just like, when it was first handed.
The heel of my boot finished the the submersion as I walked by,
Another day in the quagmire another day living with a lie.
By
© Easy-LSM
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