One

​Two
old wooden deck chairs
sit side by side,
overflowing with soft pillows,
a blanket,
facing the misty dawn,
fog lifting higher through the pine trees,
the distant calm waters,
scents of salty air and forests.
 
One
steaming cup of coffee
sits alone
on the small table
between the chairs,
beside it a slender pen
keeps the place in the journal
that lies open
to an interrupted entry.
 
Everywhere
the taste of longing.
 
 
© 1 february 2020 phyllis boernke

I'm curious. When you read my poem, One, what was your experience? I don't wonder if you liked it or not. Liking is subjective. I wonder how​ you experienced it. Were you witness to it? Did you see the mist, the deck chairs, the open journal? Did you feel the softness of the pillows? Smell the coffee, the salty air? Were you standing to the side observing? Did you walk in, snuggle down into the pillows, watch the dawn as it came in, feel the mist on your skin? Can you feel the longing? Did that line evoke emotions - a longing for someone, someplace?

Maybe your reading of this poem was not at all as I have suggested. Maybe it was quite an impersonal reading of words alone. This is not a test of your reading skills or your ability to interpret the words. It can be an insight into how you witness scenes, events, people, feelings. It's an inquiry......