The Visitor

The Visitor

I fold the napkins flatter and adjust the china:

willow pattern on the left, handle to the right.

My annual visitor seems to hover at the door, but I wait

for the knock that I know will come – never failing.

I smile in greeting, but it is hard to be genuine.

I prefer the normal distant correspondence – a pen pal

of sorts. The table is laid with biscuits and honey –

my guest doesn’t like scones and takes two lumps.

The coffee drinker’s brew fills the air with an earthy

smell that compliments his own. I sip my tea mildly.

We chat at first, nostalgia and reminiscing coming next.

Soon the tears run down our face in laugher and memory

and sadness when the time comes to say goodbye again.

Come back soon, the thought sits on the edge of my mind.

Missing him already, with a deep breath I am free again.




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