A Chapel in the Woods
There is a chapel in the woods.
We should have been married there.
The vines and the growth overcoming the building
Except for the doors that would open to welcome us.
There is a cabin in the woods.
We should have lived there together in quiet glory.
A large room with a kitchen and a bed
And you and me and the moon hanging there.
There is a moon in the sky
That shines on you there and on me here
As pink as distant blood, the smoke
Of our love comingling in twisting spires in an unknown heaven.
I sit alone here, you sit alone there.
I drink from a bottle, you from a glass.
I listen to Wanda Jackson, you listen to Kitty Wells
Alone with the moon watching us and I think of Shakespeare:
Hell is empty and all of the devils are here.
Hell is empty and all of the devils are here.
Hell is empty and all of the devils are here.
Hell is empty and all of the devils are here.
John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals since 2009. His first poetry collection is forthcoming from Cajun Mutt Press. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.