My dear Aimie
sits on a window-box cushioned seat
watching walkers and cars
moving hither and yon
through mid-day traffic
on Colonial Road in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.
With each passing, a story comes to mind;
a tale unique to each traveler
approaching the goliath Verrazano-Narrows Bridge
for adventures far away from home.
My dear Aimie
sets aside the failure of her heart
to move or dance unfettered anymore,
to trip the light fantastic
at the Jersey Shore,
or stroll to Ebbinger’s Bakery–
home of sinful confectionary delights
gone bankrupt in 1972.
Medicine gives her time
to dream what once was
from a Brooklyn window-seat;
with clarity to know
the next dream might trumpet
the final hurrah,
the last movement of life,
the last shower of laughter
in a life so rich in memory
in a time when one grew frail.
…
© William E. Barber, 2014
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