In The Rooms About To Arrive
after “Edward Hopper”

The weather was unexpected,
but there was sun enough
to sit in. And wait.
This is the realm of memory.

The music hall is quiet as velvet,
like white gloves fidgeting in church.
But this is not nearly belief.
No one recognizes the orchestra.

The dog senses something in the dark trees.
A young woman wonders when the car will come.
Luggage is ready. The letter has been read;
there is nothing to do but return.

They are the only ones left in the city;
conversation with strangers is easier than loneliness,
The wife waits at home.
An argument is halted.
Reconciliation waits for its attendants.

This street is about to awaken
and the sun has had its last reveal.
I lived in that house on the hill.
I had children there.

A customer may come; he is prepared
to speak if someone questions him.
The sea and the wind arrive,
and the room welcomes the breath of air.

There are things to do.
And there is nothing left to say.
Quiet encroaches like the forgotten
hand, resting, remembered, ungloved.

Philip F. Clark is a poet and the author of ‘The Carnival of Affection’ (SRP 2017). He is an Adjunct Assistant Professor at City College, New York, where he received his M.F.A. in Creative Writing in 2016. He is also an Associate Poetry Editor at ‘The Night Heron Barks,” https://nightheronbarks.com/, and Editor of ‘The Poet’s Grin,” https://philipfclark.wordpress.com/