It was late when she came in,
and you were alone.
It wouldn’t quite be fair to say you didn’t
expect her.
But the timing – well,
it’s all very unpredictable, isn’t it?
Nobody saw you leave with her.
(Nobody ever does).
But leave you did.
What did she say to get you to go?
Maybe there wasn’t any conversation at all.
What is there to say really?
Did she take your hand?
I’ve always wondered if she takes your hand.
.
Melancholy and longing - the rainey traits.
Give us something more cheerful next time! 
Interesting observation, CS, and I thank you for it.
Sometimes you learn things about yourself that cause you to write poetry. Other times you write poetry that causes you to learn about yourself.
Interesting.
He gives away his power.
A
Puttin that little tidbit in my pocket, consider yourself absorbed Rainey. I love the last line:
Wow, the very visualization of it sends my mind reeling.
Interesting. Maybe even a better way to consider the poem than what I had intended. Yes, he’s definitely conceding something. But what? And to whom?
(Up to the reader of course).
For me though, what is important isn’t so much the detail, I have the detail of my own life to fill in the gaps, as much as the message.
Thank you rainey.
A
You’re welcome angel. It’s fascinating to consider how one’s poems get interpreted. If one leaves it open enough the reader gets to create along with the writer.
Having said that, though,
For anybody:
Purely out of idle curiosity, did anyone consider “she” to maybe be some kind of angel of death, perhaps?
Nope, not me rainey. I had no idea. But you did give me the feeling of ‘giving away’.
A
If ‘she’ is death, the poem indeed reads much differently (and much better). I would suggest a title that puts the reader in this frame of mind at the start, or something within the text that gives a clue toward this reading.
Well as long as you felt something, angel. That’s all a poet can ask. You know, a poem interpreted is a reflection. Perhaps there is something somewhere you are giving away.
Thanks Daybreak. Someday maybe I’ll rewrite this one in someway.
Yes, I have the detail of my own life to fill in the gaps…
A
I think IT WAS LATE is actually the perfect title b/c if the “she” in the poem is to be interpreted as death/angel-of-death then the opening line “It was late…” could imply that it was late in the life of the subject who knew death was coming but not exactly when, but sometimes death arrives much earlier than expected or wanted also.
Nels.