Saturday, June 4, 2016

Milling About

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
The Maid of the Mill/Helen Kendrick Johnson, 1900
Public Domain


It’s been nearly fifty years since I’ve been to this old mill.
And yet, those past fifty years rushed right by me.  In a heartbeat,
whirling dust and wood and dappled sunlight streaked, until
everything including time ceased, as I glanced at an uneven bit of floorboard.
It’s where I left a note for you, with all the words my heart could spill.
I pledged my teenaged love to you and agreed we could run away.
But then you never replied. Your voice was silent, still.
So I lifted the board, and with a special sadness, saw the yellowed vellum sheet…
timing is everything, or what you will.


The form is Magic 9.
The poem was inspired by Sepia Saturday's prompt of