Funny
isn’t it
how late afternoon is also
early evening
and is (just as surely)
– night –
depending on the time of year
In the
scrapbook of my
memory
I will always
see the two of you
in a summer’s late afternoon
He settled
on the top step
of your Cathedral Street front porch
you – ever so slightly resting against his shoulder
Who
knows what story
you were browsing in the day’s news
After days (and nights) of constant activity I sink into your chair the bigness of your flannel robe softly folded around me Cat jumps into my lap and we surrender cocooned in the warm leather How long could I feign ignorance of your absence? Hurry home
Eden sacred ancient sanctuary vines climb through mist to the blue light and explode into exotic summer Beneath the earth shines with winter frost Peace
When my first cat died I cried as if my heart would break mourning though they did not find her until the next day My small, thin body lay arms pulled close trying in vain to hold me together I can touch the pain as if it were yesterday We played and rode bikes sneaked…
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…
At the end of the second floor hall was a step (up) and door leading to the third floor Among the small spaces created by the eaves I could hide and feel snug except Just before Christmas when it was off limits Straight ahead the attic peak held a random assortment of boxes, suitcases, furniture…
The day’s hot breath lingered forcing fireflies out of the grass. Soundlessly they rose – rising blink-ing rising – pausing in the trees, slowly charting their way ever upward. Occasionally we’d catch one in an old jar, while grownups sat in lawn chairs and chatted. Mostly we just ran around small, thin arms o u…