November 15, 2024

Yesterday
I had a hard time
making up my mind
A tenacious struggle
between two options
of what was the right thing to do.
And when it became clear
towards the end of the afternoon
it was like the sun had come out
my burden lifted
and I went outside into the last of the light
because I was happy now, light and free
and wanted to investigate
that new Antiques sign that had just gone up
almost next door.

The front door
of the big Victorian house was open
so I walked up the steps
and called out into
the first room
a call answered by a bright man
stepping out promptly from the back
in about his fifties
a little shorter than me,
a little stout,
but with a happy welcoming look.
“I’m Steven,” he said
extending his hand.

There was a wooden table in
the center of this first room
on which sat a number of smaller items
each clearly from another time,
while on the wall above
a vivid modern painting caught my eye,
but only for a moment.

I reached for a box on the central table
opened it
a unique jagged design
“I just got that today,” said Steven
stooping over it with me
as if he was seeing it for the first time
his interest equal to mine
and then we looked at the old high desk
in the corner.
“I just found a note hidden inside
a few days ago,” he said.
“Look, I’ll show you,” and he opened
a small inner drawer
and pulled out a piece of lined
stenography paper
with the ragged torn top
from the spiral binding.
I read the first few scribbled lines
a note from a girl in 1960
who wanted to leave a surprise
for someone to find,
her lines followed
in later years by the additions
of everyone who came after
and found the surprise.
 

October 31, 2024

As I leave
you, facing the window,
your back towards me,
raise your hand in a wave.
It is so beautiful
this stirring sign of life
from the pool of pain.
“You never see me wave good-bye,”
you call, “but I always do.”
I don’t care if this is true or not.
“Do it again,” I say,
pulling out my phone because
although I don’t care for staged photos
I must capture this pose
you, your back to me,
your arm straight up and true
giving that wave of yours
full of spirit.

October 26, 2024

Fred in his wheelchair
the last two visits
Saturday and Monday
curled up
like a leaf drying
it is the pain
Saturday he was curled
but not so grimly in the pain
gentle and sweet
we walked a little outside
pausing to face the sun
he thought the large yellow leaves
were golden plates
scattered in the grass.
“I’m seeing things that turn out
not to be there,” he said thoughtfully
then paused.
“For instance, I doubt you saw
the bird on roller skates just now.”
Then and Now. Twice. 

October 17, 2024

“I’m sorry to encroach on your space,”

I say with a smile

slithering into the last space

at the counter,

the last space in the house

packed as it is

with festival visitors.

The Woodstock Film Festival

and the streets

and eateries are full

and I am here because

I don’t feel well

and Leah will give me

hot miso soup and a small Caeser salad

without my having to glance

at the menu.

I’ve brought

a volume of poetry.

I wanted something easy

and this book raised its hand

and now I begin to read.

These are Hungarian poems

translated into English

from different writers

and one does not expect much

from translation

but quickly I am drawn in.

The poet is writing to his dying friend

a fellow poet

urging him to remember

the first time they met

conjuring up

images of Gaugin ~

perhaps they had been

in a gallery.

In his poem he calls up

their high moments

when they both swam in their art

a time that is not now

when the dying poet

lies unconscious in his bed

with no thought

of memories such as these.

And my eyes fill

there in the

lunchtime crush

because it could almost be me

writing to Fred

who is not,

I hasten to add,

lying unconcscious anywhere,

but this week has been in grievous pain

and I have visited twice in 3 days

and brought home sadness.

Yesterday we sat in the

campus café

he and I

and by wondrous chance

a poem he had written

7 years ago swam across

my phone screen

and I read it out loud

a long poem

beautiful

and I’m not just saying that.

It was one of his best.

When Fred was at his best

it was breathtaking

and this was one of those.

I read it out loud

and he listened

like a bird

not moving

taking in every single word

I have tried reading other things

to him out loud

and he shakes me off

after a couple of paragraphs

saying, “I can’t follow this.”

his mind unable to make the jumps

you need

to follow someone else’s writing.

But yesterday in the cafe

he caught every word

neatly as in a butterfly net

and afterwards said

yes

that had been good.

 

Mermaid
October 10, 2024

I was so happy
in the darkness
listening to the silence
thinking
this silence
must be here all day long
I could stop anytime
and listen to it
but perhaps it is louder
here in the dark
in this early morning

I was so happy
with the image
that came
of being a mermaid
underwater
in a river
letting the river take me
where it would
smoothly sometimes
sometimes snagged
in eddies
tangles of weeds
then getting free again
I am so sleek
as a mermaid
able to go anywhere
smooth as silk

So,
being so happy,
why did I get up
to get this computer?
I had to.
So many
songs coming up inside
so beautiful
as they appear inside me
It is hard letting them all go
I want to catch them

My chin is pointed up
tilted
I can see the pink cloud
over the mountain
that is a dark shape
against a pale sky
that has just a hint of baby blue
and look
another pink cloud

It’s time to go out
I must go.