MORNING SHAFTS
4 a.m. the cat meows to go out,
and we follow my flashlight beam
to the door, and alone I retreat
to my once-warm bed now chilled
slowly warming again as I curl
knees to chest like a drying leaf
trying to conserve life’s last sap
seeping out with the sun,
and I try to dream myself
back to sleep
while the newspaper carrier’s car
crunches gravel outside,
and 95 Rock blares keep-awake music
as he drives through the neighborhood
fainter and fainter until wind
freshens the downtown train whistle
over and over crossing after crossing
until I finally wake up
to a shaft of light from the bathroom
penetrating my eyes like an icicle
shattering on the sidewalk.
FAMILY CLUTTER
I kick through clouds
like October leaves
swirling in breezes
promising change
like fragments of clouds
first formed as a turtle
transformed into stealth bomber
then a duck
all while stepping toward
the tree as huge as a lone
African desert tree
digging roots far and wide
as the tip of an iceberg --
a tree like a genealogy map
traced with a hesitant finger
searching names
for familiar family,
and sunshine blinding
the higher one looks
as my footing thins,
and I descend like a leaf
among family clutter.
UNCLE’S AFTER SHAVE
My uncle died,
and I felt nothing.
A half memory of a holiday
at Grandma and Grandpa’s
of him drinking and laughing.
Another at dinner
when we visited in Nevada
of him approving that I liked
bread and gravy
as that assured I was family
like trying Grandpa’s
peanut butter and honey sandwich
like smelling my uncle’s after shave
after he left the room.
WAITING GAME
One game of active waiting
is trying to beat the microwave oven’s timer…
that sliver of time before one second of vision
triggers thumb to open the door
before ding registers in ears
to activate brain to signal body
to push the button.
Too fast…too slow…always.
But today I suspended time.
With no numbers left to count down
with a ding still anticipating the moment.
Today victory in silence.
MEMORY WALK
I could almost see Mabel
getting out of her white Explorer
and sauntering into the post office
after she graced me with her smile
and our idle five minute chat.
But it wasn’t Mabel
like I knew it never would be again,
but I thought of her today.
I saw the shadow of the old lady
I never got her name
as she had already put her yard
to bed with hoses rolled,
iris cut back, plastic wrapping
her windows trying to keep
the freshness inside.
I guess her roommate had to do
it all this year because God
put the old lady to bed
early this year.
A line of geese honked across the sky
as a single snowflake fell.
Mrs. Kjar loved gazing at each flock
as they migrated between lakes.
Hearing them inside her house
she’d grab a jacket and enjoy the flight
like watching her life pass before her own eyes
like I look up today and smile.
I know Mabel, Mrs. Kjar, and the old lady
wave at me like beauty queens
on a float this November parade day,
and I wave back proud that I knew them.
4 a.m. the cat meows to go out,
and we follow my flashlight beam
to the door, and alone I retreat
to my once-warm bed now chilled
slowly warming again as I curl
knees to chest like a drying leaf
trying to conserve life’s last sap
seeping out with the sun,
and I try to dream myself
back to sleep
while the newspaper carrier’s car
crunches gravel outside,
and 95 Rock blares keep-awake music
as he drives through the neighborhood
fainter and fainter until wind
freshens the downtown train whistle
over and over crossing after crossing
until I finally wake up
to a shaft of light from the bathroom
penetrating my eyes like an icicle
shattering on the sidewalk.
FAMILY CLUTTER
I kick through clouds
like October leaves
swirling in breezes
promising change
like fragments of clouds
first formed as a turtle
transformed into stealth bomber
then a duck
all while stepping toward
the tree as huge as a lone
African desert tree
digging roots far and wide
as the tip of an iceberg --
a tree like a genealogy map
traced with a hesitant finger
searching names
for familiar family,
and sunshine blinding
the higher one looks
as my footing thins,
and I descend like a leaf
among family clutter.
UNCLE’S AFTER SHAVE
My uncle died,
and I felt nothing.
A half memory of a holiday
at Grandma and Grandpa’s
of him drinking and laughing.
Another at dinner
when we visited in Nevada
of him approving that I liked
bread and gravy
as that assured I was family
like trying Grandpa’s
peanut butter and honey sandwich
like smelling my uncle’s after shave
after he left the room.
WAITING GAME
One game of active waiting
is trying to beat the microwave oven’s timer…
that sliver of time before one second of vision
triggers thumb to open the door
before ding registers in ears
to activate brain to signal body
to push the button.
Too fast…too slow…always.
But today I suspended time.
With no numbers left to count down
with a ding still anticipating the moment.
Today victory in silence.
MEMORY WALK
I could almost see Mabel
getting out of her white Explorer
and sauntering into the post office
after she graced me with her smile
and our idle five minute chat.
But it wasn’t Mabel
like I knew it never would be again,
but I thought of her today.
I saw the shadow of the old lady
I never got her name
as she had already put her yard
to bed with hoses rolled,
iris cut back, plastic wrapping
her windows trying to keep
the freshness inside.
I guess her roommate had to do
it all this year because God
put the old lady to bed
early this year.
A line of geese honked across the sky
as a single snowflake fell.
Mrs. Kjar loved gazing at each flock
as they migrated between lakes.
Hearing them inside her house
she’d grab a jacket and enjoy the flight
like watching her life pass before her own eyes
like I look up today and smile.
I know Mabel, Mrs. Kjar, and the old lady
wave at me like beauty queens
on a float this November parade day,
and I wave back proud that I knew them.
