Dusk
along the lane
only foundations remained
we traced them with our feet
stumbling occasionally
I stood inside one
he – just outside the one next door
for one moment
music lingered on the warm humid breeze
in September of 1941
there was no carnage
The old runway
evoked pre-dawn mornings
the palpable drone of engines
the smell of aircraft fuel
Ford Island
lay in the protected womb of Pearl Harbor
We drove home sated with gaiety, family, friends and food Beyond the traffic noise lay stifling heat and the silence that tolls the end of summer hundreds of miles rolled by town by city Out the window ‘Korean War Conflict’ hung from the license plate of a passing van I thought of the young couple…
Sitting on the park bench she said, ‘catch me some sparkles to take home in a jar!’ So when we are far from here on a dark and dreary day I can remember this moment – Smell the tide see again the sun dancing on the water.
There was something magical – and fragile – about the tissue papers on which we corresponded (marked PAR AVION) and the interminable weeks between each letter Post World War II the world was trying to rebuild, heal we (Yukiko and I) were part of that process – two children: one Japanese, one American Our shared…
No feral cats roam the island sit on windowsills sleep on forgotten front porches Trimmings that made houses homes days holidays seasons special. Gone. war came. duty called. Then the world changed. Snug in St. Maggie’s Dale cats hiss and scamper sneak around corners bivouac under a chair Jimmy the dog has come to stay…
Je vois une femme mais, I cannot see what she sees (sitting alone dans le jardin)…
Car packed slowly we pull away (from the curb?) Leaving Dog cats, kids sleepless nights final projects, exams sprinkled throughout the city all – left behind and wrapped in the sultry fragrance of an early Savannah morning Off the tree caught in my backward glance I break one bud to take with us Every five…