Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Waiting for Atticus

You'll never know
how long I've watched you
as you pass my house at dusk.
You sweep your children up
into your arms
and disappear inside.
I dream as
your scent lingers, faint as
lacy curtains turning in the breeze:
an August day's honest sweat,
Old Spice, talcum and starched shirt.
You comfort me;
we cuddle in your rocking chair at night,
my strong oak and I.
Though I know you put your gun away in youth
you're still a shooter
sharp enough to kill a rabid dog, single shot.
Take another risk, my love.
Let's give them all some gossip.
Walk into my shoes
and crawl into my very skin.
Maycomb is a slow, hot town and
I've got lots of time.


(c) Christy Lumm     2009

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