The Unexpected

 

Eleven years of dried and crusted memories,

Like soured milk in the bottom of a glass,

My gaping wounds have healed and time has passed.

His call then pulled it all again from deep freeze.

 

He said he needed to thank me for all the poems

I'd given him, and realized how much

I understood.  He had to get in touch

Again; this call he's far too long postponed.

 

We met for lunch, where I was finally freed

Of him, although he asked to start anew.

But no, my thoughts have found a different place.

 

Just seven weeks have passed, and now I need

An answer:  Somehow were you given a clue

Your life would suddenly end in medias res?

 

B. Benjamin

Italian sonnet

BBP203