Intruder

your-room

 

I stomp through your rooms
I scream my childhood until it echoes
I take off my shoes and lie on the floor
feet on the wall while I read

We live here in shifts
you with reality, I with my fairies
wandering in and out with one of them
on my shoulder. Scampering

when you come home you kick off shoes
you turn on music and from a shadow
we watch you dance away your day
before we find another place

to lie through the night

Visiting

cafeteria.JPG

 

I went to a local nursing home to visit my friend. She turned 93 on her birthday yesterday. I hadn’t been able to reach her by phone. Bad timing and bad luck. I would call during a meal that was earlier than I expected, or she would be at physical therapy or a Bible Study down the hall. I could have interrupted, but it seemed best not to. Today though, I felt I ought to go find her. I hadn’t seen her in a month, and I didn’t want her to think I had forgotten her birthday. Her husband was there and told me she was in the cafeteria. Walking to the lunch room I saw faces I recognized, but could no longer put names too, familiar faces from my relatively small town that helped make up the quilt of a place. Seeing their faces again filled in the empty squares. I had missed them and didn’t know it. They were simply in this peaceful place, trying to get well. Some had family coming. Others have outlived their families and work the days as best as they can by reading or talking to the other residents.

When I found my friend’s table, she had a smile upon seeing me. Lunch wasn’t served yet, so we talked some, and caught up. She asked if I had remembered her birthday yesterday, and I told her I had, only I could not find her. She said that they had let her go home with her family for a few hours and enjoy her birthday there. I told her I loved her and gave her the fudge I made, her favourite treat, which she has told me many times that she used to make as a young girl after school. I kissed her and hugged her shoulders and left, again, seeing faces I had not seen in years, some ghostly now, others seeming to recognize me as well. Walking out into the sunshine and sliding my sunglasses from the top of my head to cover my eyes, I felt changed. It was a daily, mundane experience, but I was changed by the love of people for the rest of their town that is slowly becoming another town entirely.

like at your home
birds still sing at your window
sanctuary

 

Monday

sunrise June.jpg

Monday could be a drudge
a gray, murky day, where
I play catch-up
the gallons of coffee
reminding me I have work piled to the ceiling
with no time to think of your eyes
or how you touched my hand
once-
Monday could be dull-
or
I could look out at this fresh day
the breeze ruffling my blouse
slipping through the weave
caressing my skin
and I could be reminded of this gift-
that I woke
and stepped out
and saw the moment
that the sun kissed the lake
Monday
could be mine

 

mutation

all the rovers have become divers
all the merry maids in divers situations
are come to their ends in intricate ways
the hems of their garments falling short
of their plans, the hopes
of a privileged few fall to the masses
each wanton phrase passed from pop to son
enough to get the damage done
plenty well enough to bring the mama to justice
leaving her alone with every memory of trains
driving through her head with
the ferocity of the years
crashing into her dreams without cause

fears of the fathers

sailing through cherry blossom days
and crème brûlée nights
she wasn’t going to lay down her arms
for a mere brat of a boy
saving up her trinkets for later
giving him all her daydreams
and night sweats

he did not know the tango
but they moved through summer
amid a soundtrack of Ravel
and Aguilera
all second thoughts
stuffed under the mattress

back in the town onto which
they shook the clay from their shoes
all their dues, paid
if you took into account
their mothers’ latent wishes
and the fears of their fathers

don’t worry
about the trash in your yard
it’s not
from my yard
it’s from all the thoughts
that heap up
in the middle of the storm
whirling
with a gig of their own