It's just poetry, it won't bite

Reunion


06.21.10 Posted in words to linger on by

Mike Lyne was born in 1967 in Ireland, survived the Irish education system almost intact, and moved to Germany, where he works in IT. Approaching the point where half his life has been spent abroad has raised the question of where his influences come from and how they mix; the search for the answers continues. His poetry appears online in his blog.

This poem could be set in any rural American town but for a word or two that identify Mike’s native origin. The universality of the work allows the reader to fully engage the characters and the narrative.

Reunion

By Mike Lyne

I curve into the cluttered yard.
The surety of memory placing
the rented car
in a space
where once a hayshed
yawned at the facing hills.
My stranger’s arrival changes
as I emerge from the
foreign metal.
The registration of the car
forgotten
as its provenance is resolved.
My uncle moves through
the heavy stones 
and greets me
in a low voice
that as ever lends formality
to the handshake.
We rest against the car,
the suspension slowly
taking the weight
of our conversation.
I have come home for one
funeral
and now prepare for
another.
You’ll see a great change
in himself he warns
and eases my 
passage
into a new reality.
Somehow I begin to move
in towards the house,
a repeated path
but not so common now.
My grandparents’ rooms
are quieter too.
Not the quiet of the old house.
Where range and
bench and beams
and dresser
soaked the gloom
with silence
releasing only the clock.
I’m told where he is
and I turn a corner
surprised at the distance
the short corridor
holds within its length.
The door rounds on me
and the shock of a stranger
met in a private place
mocks all preparation.
Only his dead sister’s bones
moving his skin to greet me
start our last conversation.



One Response to “Reunion”

  1. Kay says:

    I was moved to weep.

    I can think of nothing else to say.

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