The Red Bench on the Hill

 

“It looks so lonely,” you say

“one of these days we’re going to have to go up there and sit.”

​

“One of these days we should.”

​

And then you turn, your mind slips past the red bench.

Not much has enough traction to stay for very long.

And when you turn back and see it in all its painted glory:
“It looks so lonely. One of these days I’ll go up there and sit on that bench.”

​

“One of these days you should.”

​

And then you turn, mind slipping to the next thing in front of you.

But I keep looking at the red bench,
in all its painted glory,

wondering if you knew how many times we’ve had that conversation.

​

I know you don’t, know you can’t.

But still, every time you say that the bench looks lonely
and one day you’ll go up there and sit

and I say

that one of these days you should
and you turn

I feel as though that bench is piercing my heart and

that is the real reason it’s red.