Snapshot: Her Evening

Her landlord’s kids have strewn the walk with toys;
She smiles as she steps around a trike.
She hears within a laughing, running noise,
The joy of children to the childlike:
And after some brief play, she’s off to hike
The longish stairs that lead her to her room.
She flips a switch to chase away the gloom

That never really leaves nor really stays
(Except when tears unbidden come at night)
But she is cheerful on the worst of days.
She pauses by the mirror at her sight
(The wind has blown today – her hair’s a fright)
But soon downstairs she goes to talk and eat,
Before she makes her evening’s long retreat.

Up in her room, she thinks of what she’ll write.
Ideas she has, like waves or grains of sand —
She’ll work on three or four of them tonight,
Then stop to listen to a favorite band
Remembering, at once, his darkened hand
And that he is no longer by her side:
The man who played the groom to her young bride.

The house is quiet, all the kids in bed;
The night is still and peaceful in the main:
And love has never died within her head,
Nor been defeated by the throbbing pain
Of heart so full, it cannot all retain —
But still, the graceful night enfolds its own,
And love surrounds her, even when alone

Snapshot: First Impression

A moment tinged with wariness,
A sense that danger’s coming near;
A feeling that she can’t express,
A vague, but unrelenting, fear –

She sees a face she loves and knows:
Her sister smiling, drawing close,
So tries her unnamed dread to stay
And meet her sister’s fiancée

Morning Friend

A morning friend by me
Just sitting by the sea;
I do not know where all she’s been,
As she does not know me

As lives are circumspect,
And fortunes sometimes wreck’d,
We find here on this sandy wet
Our brief lives intersect

My morning friend and I
Just watch the waves go by:
Before the day that I must trudge
And she, in turn,
Must fly

Snapshot — Kitchen, 8:17 am

The last two out the door, and off to school,
A silence comes, as deadly as a flower,
That though he welcomes it, perfumes his mind
With poison, bringing sleep or even worse.

He calls so many things by other names
Than those most apropos. It is a curse:
To feel inside the marrow of his bones
The emptiness he won’t admit pervades

The water circulation, or the heat,
Or air that flows within the kitchen walls.
He will not say; and though he reads and writes
Of all the things that minds these days attend,

He dares not say the word. For life begins
In crevasses and cracks where shoots can grow;
And also ends, when light cannot get in,
And seals form over openings too soon

Snapshot: Young Couple by the Water

The air around them formed a shell
We could see into; they could not see out.
How that spell still works we saw,
And, not that either of us had a doubt,

But every time it happens, it is new,
And new things always strike you forcefully:
Even two lovers, by a gentle lake,
Who no one but each other truly see.

Snapshot: Passing By A Woman In The Hotel Lobby

I saw her waiting in the lobby
Nervously, expectantly;
Looking out the giant window
Framed by its immensity

Who she was I do not know, and
Never will, now, I suppose:
But the seekers, lookers, waiters —
I belong
To such
As those


 

(“Snapshot: Passing By A Woman In The Hotel Lobby” – 12-10-2014)