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And Words Are All I Have
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Taking our leave in the late afternoon...
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Goodbyes Mostly These Days
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Why must it be
the most beautiful
the day we leave for the last time,
autumn sunlight dappled just so,
never had we seen it ladled out
quite so magnificently.
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The family of loons rarely seen all summer
suddenly patrols the dock,
aloof,
not wanting to seem
the slightest bit interested
in the ruckus.
The chipmunks will wonder,
peevishly,
where their nightly trove of peanuts has gone.
Grover the groundhog will sigh,
wearily,
at the prospect of having to charm new tenants yet again.
The loyal pair of cardinals will search for us in vain
on their routine nightly visit,
decreeing their human companions to be fickle at best.
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Taking our leave in the late afternoon,
the dirt road will unspool dustily behind us,
and we may miss a glimpse of the new fawn
who pops her head out from the brush, curious,
puzzled at anyone leaving such a place
when all around her blazes gold.
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The Sadness of Her Sewing
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There she remains, In the folds of her nightgown Tucked deeply in her bedside drawer, Releasing the scent of her Chantilly. And here, in her treasured clip-on earrings Of aurora borealis rhinestones, All the colors of the northern lights, She explained. And perhaps most, Up there on the closet shelf, Her well-worn sewing basket, A frayed tapestry on its lid of …
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No Heart I don’t have the heart for the news that demands daily a suspension of disbelief, a numbing disconnection that I am no longer willing to offer up. Today, a tsunami rising suddenly on some faraway ocean. Tonight, children herded into unmarked vans. Tomorrow, the Yulan Dog Massacre. Just give me robot dogs, microchipped to respond. To jump up …
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