another night in this bed
another night in this bed
William has passed
she said
calling him a name
he never used
the one he
came into the world with
a letterhead name
his father and father’s father
both bore
and failed to live by
what could I say next
to this well-meaning woman
her days filled with
speaking closed doors
to ears unready to hear
each crisp word
announcing an end to chances
I hung the phone
back in its cradle
testing the weight
of no more time
becoming a body
becoming a body
everything slows
air
sound
time
that warm heart squeezes
with less gusto
less interested in hanging on
the lungs creak open
a smaller crack
they’re coming to rest
like a pendulum becomes plumb
eyes turn inward
focused on re-viewing not seeing
limbs move their last
they didn’t know
which would be their final stair
parting wave
goodbye kiss
the ocean pulse that runs from tip to toe
weakens
ebbs
the blue line traces
shallower crests and troughs
the electrical buzz
that hummed distractingly
in the background every moment
starts to crackle with static
sputter
flicker
like the lights in the windstorm
of a deep snow day
the circle narrows
who knows you well enough
to still see you now?
and now?
we are all going
from poor souls
to untethered bodies
mostly living less each day
but sometimes we waken
from life’s lull
to moonglow through pine boughs
and breathe some life back in
to keep our spirits stitched to our hearts
for another long midsummer day
Many, Many Days of Photos!
Somehow, I have managed to find the highlights of the last 10-12 days in only six photos. These range from Bushy-tailed Woodrats to phenomenal sunsets, snow-coated trees to Wild Geraniums. These do not encompass all of our experiences of the past few days, just until the 28th. I will be posting the rest soon!
sewing on a star
sewing on a star
in the mountain town’s news
there’s no national section
or notion of globe
hospital/ambulance/snowpack/flood
consume the front page
and we’re wonderfully removed
(one feels)
from tanks and Pennsylvania Avenue
the only rumbles here from thunderheads
(also on holiday today)
it’s so easy
to follow the red-white-and-blue chain
of early risers run/walking
one heart-stopping view at a time
through the chute
then tumble onto the county building lawn
to admire the parade’s burros
while the mayor jokes about assets
to lounge in St. Vincent’s shade
with a plate full of hospitality
while the band strums Jackson
and the police officer and firefighter
furtively hold hands
on their way to the trees
to clap and say ooh
at the blue-dotted domes of fire
lighting up the space between
the football field and Antares
it’s far too easy
to shut off the disgust
at the Stars and Bars
in the parade Jeep’s rear window
to imagine there’s no flag now flying
over caged kids
wrapped in foil on concrete floors
with no mother left to call
to pledge allegiance to
this nation of lost souls
more willing to hand the keys
to a dictator than a woman
who love guns more than children
and money most of all
too tempting to be
my four-year-old self again
posing for the paper
fingers faking a needle
dressed up as Betsy Ross
sewing on a star
