20th
A Poem Written By Tony Johansen
THE GLOVE
I found a glove in Darley Street,
Long and black and elegant velvet,
Soft and sensual, a story book;
Lives and hands that impregnated
The fibers with touches of some,
Elusive realities that were once there;
Beside a shelf or in a drawer,
Sounds of breathing and heart beating,
And fingers that explored and eyes,
That said; yes this might do, and maybe,
A laugh, or sigh, or some inconsequential
Conversation along the way to a meaningful
Touch from someone who might be important,
In the life of this hand that fits in this glove.
Why was it here in Darley Street?
stylishly long and blackly mysterious,
This glove of story’s but no tongue,
To reveal a forgetful moment, perhaps
A distraction, a story more enchanting,
Than this discarded calligraphy in cloth.
But then, perhaps, it was the hurry to an
Appointment with promise, or perhaps,
The promise yet to be fulfilled that churns
The heart or creates a desire to forget a
Story filled glove that touched another time.
Did she return to Darley Street?
To look for the lost and empty vessel,
That was her glove wherein her fingers,
Protected by dressed up magnificence,
Could greet, and get to know the promise,
Of both passions and small snippets of life,
Beyond the skin over skin of this single glove like the
Sounds of seas in a seashell that’s there and yet not there.
Now whenever I walk in Darley Street,
A boulevard of stories fills my eyes and heart;
And at the intersection another’s laughter and scent,
Fills my ears and nose and dreams of life within a glove,
And streets go each way and are there but cannot be seen.
I found a glove in Darley Street,
I held it to my ear and listened to the mystery’s of story’s part heard.
- Tony Johansen