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Archive for November, 2009

Abundance on the Patio

Petunia blooms spill
over edges that cannot
contain such splendor

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I find myself searching

for the memory of an hour,

times once ours alone.

 

I linger

as I extend my hand

to engage the ignition of my car.

 

This car—

not the one then

that bore us everywhere

before the future moved us on.

 

I sit. My hands caress

the thickness of this wheel,

my mind imagines smoothness

through the turns all made back then—

 

    music streams transported

    the two of them—

    becoming one breath

    breathing in an afterglow.

 

Perhaps I long for forty-two.

 

Perhaps I’m blessed, me passing

memory tests like this.

 

Perhaps I’ll linger once again

in the slow-fading of

an afternoon.

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Circles

Walking after dinner
    astounded by slow-rising
globe, swollen golden load.

Circling  the pond amidst
   reflection’s glimmer, I

follow the growing glow.

Moonlight pressing round

    inflames my feet, moves

me home to one who waits.

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About Renewal

About Renewal

(new one Years after the Stroke, days….)

hard to know
who had the most faith that day
we exchanged one dry Christmas tree
for ten bare sticks
traveled home to plant them
in the hard yard

then
watered, waited, wondered
at the hopelessness
of what we were about

yet today
birds sing from
ten generous red maples
lifting their limbs
into blue sky
of our smiles

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If Only

If only

 

she had considered

the future cost she’d pay

for walking four inches taller than she was

 

Had she thought to measure

and select only a perfect fit

instead of the flashy colors, the pointed toes

her old woman feet

might yet be free

to move easily across the lawn

or into town

 

But, if only being what it is,

today she sighs and sits

with only her pen

to move her in and out

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I awake as light spills in
hear water splash the basin
and imagine your attention
to your face, lathering and shaving

I curl around my pillows
draw yours closer, listen
as your wing-tip shoes brush
the plush beige rug                     

Morning sleepy head, you say
and bend to give a kiss
as I rush a smile into your wide embrace
press my palm into your
yellow tie
         
Ready for your morning meeting
yet
you’re not moving
toward the door…

Later                                          
after you are gone
I know that should I have a million days
ten million nights, I will forever
know the touch yellow silk

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Finding Home in the summer of 1948

 

Parked beneath the wash of shade

our parents saw a place

they might plant themselves

kneel and call home,

for four of us waiting

beneath the arch of ancient oak

sheltering this stretch of road

on Clairemont Avenue in

Decatur, Georgia

 

I was not yet six, my sister

Carol turning four next week

And we were in intense

Negotiations in the back

For who would hold the doll

Who only fold the clothes

 

We didn’t care what the pair

up front thought they sought

though they found it there

that Sunday morning, observing

church folk ambling in between

the high reach of white columns

some organ streaming out

filling up the air, refrains

chiming repeatedly the hour

calling all come in, come

home to some sweet sanctuary

 

Peace and safety for a life

For us

Might be found in this spot

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