Francis

                                                                                        Francis

He’s calm. He’s strong, and silent, and when I talk he listens. Sometimes it’s hard to tell that he cares, but he always assures me that I’m worth listening to.

                                                                                        Francis

I meet with him nearly every day. He doesn’t say much, but what he does say is near a whisper. His voi

ce is the wind in the meadow of my life, and the breeze feels good. I first met him last January. It was colder, but he warmed me right up. I was actually accidentally walking in his garden. I thought it was a public place, but the rock garden belongs to Francis. He collects the strangest looking rocks. He’s odd, in that he names them all. But then we all have our oddities.

                                                                                        Francis

That’s how he introduced himself. I still don’t know his last name. Doubt I ever will, but I’m not that curious. Everybody has their own secrets. Francis is full of them I’m sure. He seems to have this completely other life. Every once in a while while we’re sitting together in his garden, people will come up to us. Some young, some old, and they all have stories to tell. They reminisce, there’s not a lot of talk of the future. Francis will do what he will I suppose. Sometimes I get a little jealous of the pretty little numbers that come by. They regard me often with suspicion, as if Francis belonged to them, and I was misplaced.

                                                                                        Francis

My friends used to make fun of me for meeting with him. I think they think that he’s cold and calloused. To be fair, he is rough around the edges. And he never leaves. Well I don’t know that he never leaves. I suppose he must, but he never is in a hurry to leave when I’m around. I can see then why some think he’s strange. But he trusts me. Even with the dark things that are inside of him.

                                                                                        Francis

Sometimes I think he’s the perfect man. Other times he assures me that I’m the perfect woman for him. It’s like he knows exactly what to say, but more importantly when. There was a particularly rainy day last May when all we did was listen to the rain. I fell asleep on his lap, and he let me lay there. I got drenched, but then again, so did he. It was the best sleep I’ve ever had.

                                                                                         Francis

I’m not sure when, but he hired someone to tend to his rock garden. One Mr. Chase Ripley. He’s nice enough I suppose, but he gives me strange glances. I told Francis about it, but he assured me that Mr. Ripley is harmless. I trusted him when he first started working here, but he’s been pushing his boundaries

Francis

“I’m sorry miss, but it’s time to leave.” Mr. Ripley said. Who did he think he was? Never had he been so bold. Then again, I had stayed past sunset. Francis doesn’t generally like to stay awake after dark, but he makes exceptions. I was one. Francis told Mr. Ripley to leave me be, and he did.

Francis

The police came, trouncing right through the rock garden. I was so alarmed, I nearly jumped. Were they here about Francis’s former life? Perish the thought. Couldn’t they see how gentle he was now? I would fix this, I would testify if it came to that. They wanted to talk to him alone though, so one of the officers asked me to leave with him.

Francis

I wasn’t going to go though, they needed to know how patient he was. They needed to know that whatever crimes he was guilty of, it was over now. Suddenly they seemed so much more interested in getting me away. It’s as if they knew I could clear his name. They came closer, and one officer took my arm. I’m sorrowful to say that tears escaped my eyes. As I was taken away I traced my fingers around his name, tattooed into his arm, as if to remind him of who he was now.

Francis

They took me away, and I haven’t seen him since. I yearn for him when I sleep. I yearn for him when I wake. His strong arms that might hold me on a cold night. I yearn for his voice, as strong as the wind, as quiet as rain, as bright as birds chirping and as calm as the far off sea. I have a lot of free time now. Though I wish I didn’t, so I wrote him a poem.

    Francis, my heart will ever long

    Francis, give me a clue

    Franics, silent strong.

    Francis who are you?

    Francis what have you done?

    Francis, I know not what to do

    Francis, my heart you have won

    Franics, who are you?

Francis, will I ever know?

Francis, my heart is true

Francis, my heart no longer does laugh

Francis, though the sky remains blue

Francis, they say you are an epitaph

Francis, who are you?

Francis, forgive me, though not my faith behave

Francis, the question then from my lips pursue

Francis, are you then simply a grave?

Francis who are you?

Francis, away from these white walls, me you must carry

Francis, find me, or lest I am through

Francis, for they showed me your obituary

Francis, who are you?


Francis, physically they keep us apart

Francis, though the distance seems far

Francis, I'll keep  your name written, carved on my heart

Francis, as it was, as it is, I'll know who you are. 

Francis.