A Poem: The Visitor

Yesterday while doing some cleaning, I came across this poem. It was originally printed by the Springfield  Journal on September 17, 1992. I remember how thrilled I was to see my poem in print. 

The Journal, a terrific community paper, is no longer published. And that’s a shame.        

I though you’d come while I slept –

bed unmade, hair un-kept.

Thought you’d knock or say hello

not like this you odd fellow!     

Never while I drank my tea,

 with my knitting on my knee.

Not before I’d read the news

with its sorry, sullen views.   

Thought you’d wait ‘till my daughter came.

You know it’s quite a ways from Maine.

And not before I’d picked some flowers,

Oh no, not for hours and hours.     

I haven’t even tidied up.

I’ve cleaned no plate, washed no cup.

Oh the house is in such a state-

I thought you’d get here very late.     

You do not hunger, want nothing to drink

as you sit with your pen and ink.

I stand and watch you write

my name, my deeds, ‘til it is night.

How do I look? Do I look okay?

Never looked better is what you say.

Nothing new to wear, no bag to pack-

from where I’m going, I won’t be back.    

Won’t bother with the light - there is no reason.

I guess this is my going away season.

Well I guess I’ll sit in my rocking chair

for when they find me, it’d best be there.  

 (c)Pamela Tyree Griffin