Scott Simpson · Poetry
Autumn Stories
Selected Poems 1989 to 2009 · source pages 9
All poetryThe original line breaks, stanza spacing, and placement are preserved. Long lines scroll horizontally.
Source page 9
Autumn Stories
We wrapped ourselves in
old wool, too long spared within
the attics of Stromsburg Nebraska .
And nights we ran in darkness,
trees our company, dark and
quaking as the sound we made died hollow...
leaving only night and the moon to lick the
water.
You told me stories, later,
of people you knew that I had forgotten,
and I fell asleep to the rhythm of your
words... I never cared for the others as much
as you did, but your stories were full of night air
and long highways that always led to friends.
And when I thought I'd lost my only true love,
I found you first to bury my eyes
in your shoulder and wet your t-shirt there in the
Laundromat in Lubbock Texas.
I don't even know what you said
but you stood beside me when I married
her.
After that,
warming yourself in my house,
you listened, speaking softly to my wife
saying words that lingered in the curtains and on the
couch, when you had to leave town. They were fragrant
and we return to them
frequently, watching you cross your long legs, waiting for
you to formulate the answer... wanting to hug you
before you leave.
Copyright Scott Simpson, All Rights Reserved
