After Supper

You left your blue umbrella beside the laundromat

I carried it through Tuesday and never brought it back

The corner shop was closing, it signed blank twice then died

I read your old postcard slowly on the number five outside

Some things stay in ordinary places

A coffee ring, borrowed sleeve

I pass them like familiar faces

Still hoping they remember me

If you come by after supper

Leave your bicycle downstairs

I'll be sitting by the window

With the evening in my hair

We don't need a grand beginning

We don't need to make it new

Just tell me what you've been carrying

And I'll make room here for you

The forest on the avenue put tulips in a tin

Your favorite kind were yellow, you always counted them

A taxi rolled through puddles and painted gold across the road

I thought about the summer when we shared a borrowed coat

Sunlights fold into the morning

Without a promise or a plan

But I still keep the kettle warming

Like you might call the way you can

If you come by after supper

Leave your bicycle downstairs

I'll be sitting by the window

With the evening in my hair

We don't need a grand beginning

We don't need to make it new

Just tell me what you've been carrying

And I'll make room here for you

I changed the sheets, I fixed the handle

On the cupboard by the sink

I learned the quiet shape of waiting

And how little words can mean

If you're afraid of being late now

If you're afraid I won't be kind

Bring the truth you couldn't tell me

I'll bring mine as you come by after supper

Leave your bicycle downstairs

I'll be sitting by the window

With the evening in my hair

We don't need a grand beginning

We don't need to make it new

Just tell me what you've been carrying

And I'll make room here for you

Blue umbrellas by the doorway

The kettle singing low

Take your time along the stairwell

You already know where to go