I Turned and You Were Gone by Joan Pond


NEEDLES OF PINE

I turned
and you were gone.

Clusters of blue hydrangea
and the scent of sweet privet,
were all that remained.
The cobblestones I’d traversed
for so many years,
seemed threatening.

A police officer asked,
‘are you okay?’

Suddenly,
a whiff of pine reminded me,
of a pillow I’d had in Vermont.
It was filled with prickly needles,
offering a certain scent
of solace.

I turned
but you were gone.


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