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by

Jack

Sweet stories
written through passage of time
float in the room.
An accordion rendition shared just so
squeezes in and out amongst memorabilia around the dwelling.

A birth tidbit distracts from pain in the moment.
Cherubic cheeks and bright eyes initiate brief anecdotes.
Photos lay in neat rows on the table,
frames polished and bright.
“They’ve taken them from his walls.
This one – she was a fighter. Ugly little thing,
fat head, big nose.”

Jack is gone.

A catch in her voice.
“We thought we’d have so much time together
now that our lives have quieted.”

Bare branches of the lilac hedge are stark,
unadorned with flowers or leaves.
They look brittle and frail
like the wisp of woman before me.
“I planted that from little slips taken from the farm.”
The shrubbery encloses the yard.
A thicket of tangled growth
hiding this slip of a woman from her neighbors.

“Jack and I met before the war.
I was working the switchboards.
He saw me standing by the mess hall kitchen sink
after dinner one evening, hands in soapy water.
‘What’s a guy gotta do to get a smile?’
That’s how we met.”

Jack is gone.

The hands with onion paper skin shake.
Sudsy water flashback hides the lines and blue-green veins
but not the grief.

“He built this house.
Realized quickly he may have taken on more than he could handle
but he saw it through. That’s what you do. You finish what you
start. We had a lot of good times
here in this old house.”

Jack is gone.

Black and white photo of a handsome young man
smiles from his perch on the countertop.
Thick black hair is swept roguishly to one side,
army attire impeccably neat.
His easy chair in the veteran’s home sits empty.
The walls of his room are bare.
A whispered tribute from his family home
sorts through memories.

by

Graceful Partners

They dance
a beautiful dance
as only two exquisitely familiar can.

Age old friends move,
comfortable in each others orbit,
no words necessary.

Arms length apart
graceful glides take place
while chaos reigns around them.

Echo of guns
aimed in the name of a cause
are forgotten for a moment
in the gentleness of the dance.

Slowly, smoothly,
glowing bright then dim,
tides rise, sunsets fade,
each accept the other, waiting in time.

Hungry, homeless
nomads search,
then pause in witness
of the familiar dance.

The ancient duo outlive, outlast,
wars and famine,
great empires and floods.

Steps take them on a path
travelled around
and around,
then around once again.

Their orbit flows
with continuous turns,
an inseparable pair.

Earth and moon,
fluid partners,
inspire devotion
moving along
to their own tune.

by

Here

I am here.
Where I sit.
Bent knees folded under
ebony wood desk.
Harsh computer screen light
insists on my attention.

My mind drifts
to a place of gentle beauty, warmth and water.
Lapping waves caress sandy beaches.
Balmy sun rays touch all with a golden
Midas touch.

I am here.
Alone.
Keyboard letters waiting to be tapped,
bills to be paid,
calendar to be adjusted.

My mind wanders.
Here I sit
but there I go.

An eagles vision of all below,
soaring over mountaintops,
gliding above wide open plains,
blank pages before me,
ivory sheets upon my desk.

Here I sit.
I am here.

My spirit roams,
walls and windows pose no threat,
no barrier to this wandering mind.
The world awaits,
a vast outdoors
waiting to be explored.

Here I sit.
Shoulders in knots, fingers kinked,
but there I go.

Lost.
Lost in thought.
Lost in the beauty of a dragonfly wing;
a wispy orange cloud tinged with the sun
dipping down in the west holds me,
holds on to day because this moment nears –
nears rest.
Where east and west come together.
No beginning.
No end.
The earth revolving,
evolving.
And there is so much
to see
to explore.

Yet here I am.

My mind is out the door.

I am here
seated too long.

I am here.

But my spirit
is long gone.

by

Epiphany

She startled the afternoon when she strode purposefully into the quiet room.
Flaming red hair, harbinger of her lively essence, tucked casually under a black
wool tuque, low ponytail forgotten. The bright blaze down her back begged
indifference but the exceptional color could not escape notice.
Camouflage pants spilled into bright orange boots, oozing with youthful confidence.
She approached with laidback ease.
Her white teeth, one near the front slightly overlapping another,
satisfied her broad smile.
Loud boisterous laughter rolled from her lips, smacked with a mischievous air.
Her lighthearted presence filled the room.

And I saw what others could not.
Youth choosing life. While her cells waged a battle of their own deep inside,
one destroying another.