April Showers Collection (5)

It Was All Too Quiet

It was quiet
All too quiet
The night you came
The music from the bar below
Surprisingly faint

I could hear the echoes of my own
Feet on the staircase
Leading up to the place we last made love
That’s when I saw it

The moon
I paused, between steps
Contemplating, for a moment taking a picture to send to you
But I wouldn’t know what to say

Words had become completely useless
When it comes to you
Yet I paused.
And wondered if somewhere you were looking up too

That’s when I found out
You were here, in my town
No word, no warning
I nearly dropped the cup I was holding

I nearly fell to the ground
I nearly cried
But instead I laughed
I rolled my eyes at the heavens
The impetuous Gods
The moon and her insistence
On bringing us together in her cycle
On the day when I both least
And most
Expected it

After all, I should have known
It was way too quiet.

...

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Where Will You Go When It’s All Over?

Where will you go when it’s all over? I asked myself.
Inside, I said.

I was standing in the bar
Marvelling at how
strange it is now
To have the man who dried my tears
Meet the man who caused them

They nod in recognition
He gives reverence
To the one before him
But stands firm at my side
A reminder
That things, do, and will get better

Though,
In all fairness,
He too once dried my tears
Tears caused from one pre-dating him
Before he become brutish and distant
He wiped clear the path of my past pain
And I must thank him for that

Still I am standing,
Heart hanging from a strand
And I wonder if my life is a cycle
Of placing my most recent pain
Onto the shoulders of my current love
Until their knees buckled under
And they crumble away
Like dust to the wind
And leave me with fresh tears to dry

This time I am trying to do this for myself
No longer afraid to swim in the ocean of my own sorrow
To hold my own hand
To press fingers to my own heart
And listen to my own dreams
And hear out my own thoughts

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Because it’s over and there’s nowhere else to go now
But inside.

...
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Baby, He’s a Traveling Man

Baby, didn't you know he's a traveling man

Baby didn’t you know
He’s a travelling man
Got a song on his lips
Guitar in his hand
He’ll play for free
He’ll play if I can
Baby, don’t you know
He’s a traveling man

Baby didn’t you know
He’s a traveling man
Belongs to no woman
Belongs to no land
His heart in the heavens
Guitar in his hand
Didn’t you know
He’s a traveling man

Oh don’t you know
Lonesome is his home
Wherever he lays his head is my bed
Long ago traded his soul
For the freedom to roam
Oh, don’t you know
He’s a traveling man

He’ll write you a love song
He’ll sing you a note
He’ll linger for longer til it’s his time to go
He can’t promise you much
He’s always leaving tomorrow
Oh don’t you know
He’s a travelling man

He couldn’t love you if I tried
His heart, he sold a long time ago
Pawned it to the stars
In exchange for a one way ticket on a never ending road
Maybe he could get it back

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For fortunes untold
But the path before him lays naked, outstretched
Beautiful, unknown
Baby didn’t you know
He’s a traveling man
His hands are rough
From years of strumming along
You can hold him if you try
But you can’t hold him for long
Didn’t you know
He’s a traveling man
Come stay a night with me
Let me wash off your wounds
Let’s pretend, just for now
That time won’t always come back for you
And you back for time
Like a moth to the light
You rise in the night and tie your shoes
“I love you,” you’ll say
Just before you turn away
Leaving broken promises in your wake
But, I can’t complain
Because didn’t I always know?
You’re a traveling man

...

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Thank you

Thank you for reading. If any of these poems brought up something for you, please
reach out and share. I welcome your responses. I welcome you to share poetry of
your own. Please, if you feel inclined to share any of my work, c​ heck with me first,
before publishing on any social media, websites, even privately sharing with
friends. Thank you for hearing me. I will end with a poem I did not write in April,
but is as true today as it was 6 months ago when I first stumbled onto these
lakeside lands, knowing I was looking for something, but not knowing what.
Searching. Constantly seeking.

Searching

I am tired. And I am scared
I am scared that I am straying too far away from some
Obscure dream that I’ve never dared put words to
Never been able to

Where has the time gone?
The dream asks me

The dream eludes me
Like ether
Like dark space
I can only define it by what it isn’t
Cold cold colder colder
Warm warm warmer
Almost there
Blindfolded, I thrash in the dark

Looking for a place
Where my happiness
Is effortless
Where my smile
Is genuine
Where my heart is
Content

 
 
 
 

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Sarah Cronin​ is a Bay Area born writer, dancer 

and yoga instructor. She has been published both 
internationally (RioOnWatch.org) and nationally 
(TheAntiMedia.org). She currently resides in a lakeside 
town in the highlands of Guatemala where she teaches 
yoga and writes for the local lake magazine. You can 
read her work at​ http://sarahcronin.pressfolios.com. 
She also loves receiving reader feedback and pictures of 
cats. Send all feedback to ​[email protected]​.  

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