Today’s reflection is a poem I wrote about ten years ago about moving on when a chapter of life is completed.
The dust swirled around the
town square like the last smoke
of the big fire of ‘94.
Gathered around the outreaching
oak tree were the citizens, who
made up the town’s elite.
Where has he gone, they asked
in a gentle cadence, like the blues
he used to sing.
Haven’t seen him since the last
party he gave, was the only
verse the mayor could add.
As if god had reached his hand
into the town and extracted one
of their own, Wilson had vanished.
Some said that he just got kidnapped,
and a ransom note would be forthcoming
on the next inbound train.
Others were sure that he had found a
new love, and left in embarrassment over
the town’s lack of appeal.
Someone said they saw him in the
city having lunch with suspicious
men, who may have done him harm.
All in all, they did not know where
he was. His life just ended in this town.
No goodbyes. No message.
Perhaps he had learned about moving
On. When the fat lady dies the opera
is really over and so the curtain closes.