I think about those bridges in Madison County,
about a movie they inspired, about the man and the woman
finding love in one another for a while.
I think about the choices they made.
They both wanted the same thing. He offered her his world,
but she chose her wedding ring.
All the seasons from her life to death,
how many times her heart must have ached
for a man that crossed her path perchance –
It’s not often fate makes a mistake…
I remember she gripped the door handle,
a single life-changing moment of time, and
like a lazy day spent in the sun, she let this one pass her by.
When I was young I judged her harsh, said
she was a fool for letting that man in, that she
deserved the regret of a thousand years;
she should have no rest in her chosen sin.
Now I am of an age – no longer young but not yet old.
Should I be given a taste from her bitter well, would I stay,
be the good wife, in appearance and duty and
do what’s right?
White knuckles grabbing the handle of the door,
would I open it and run into the arms of ‘More;’
or would I sit, pressing bottom to chair,
resign myself to always be there?
Through death or distance or giving up,
through bitterness or fear or the liar’s cup,
through all that there is and all that will be,
Regret washes down with certainty,
so whether to stay or whether to go,
the heart follows love, no matter how far;
one can be free to fly in the dark
or one can be a firefly trapped in a jar
***photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/chanc/430806926/”>Christopher Chan</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>***
sheilapierson 