still in love

hand-in-hand

 

in a few weeks it will be

forty years since we went out

for a banal movie and pizza—

 

forty years, college, a marriage;

three children grown,

and moved out mostly.

 

We are grandparents now.

Isaac toddles about the house

determinedly going where he goes,

as we follow behind bemused.

 

I think we worry too much

for the troubles we have. I am

aware they are there, as they are—

yet, so am I, and so are you.

 

(February 19, 2018)

Necromance

native-spell-in-South-Africa-or-Johannesburg

 

As blood from wine,

He is transformed;

The words solidify—

Lift from the page

Like a starling murmur

flows in morning air.

Obsessively, his thoughts

Turn and return

To the slightest wisp

She might, in passing,

Have whispered.

Memory is present

Always to form

A different future.

He writes and revises,

Remembers and reforms,

As if a candle’s smoke

Can reshape a flame;

As if all the words

Are uttered correctly,

He will be reborn.

 

(February 5, 2018)

Crush It

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“yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me”

                        —Malvolio, 12th Night, William Shakespeare

 

 

 

I wasn’t one of them,

I just want you to know—

I wasn’t like those others

She said almost as if she

Believed what she said

 

He smiled and nodded

As she said it again

But he knew as well

As she that she was one

Of them and was the same

 

But he was in love and wanted

Her to be what he wanted

Her to be not with those

Who were those who giggled

And mocked his doleful thoughts

 

Not that he cared then or now

He was in love then as now

And wonders now why she

Wanted him so badly to know

She wasn’t one of them

 

 

(December 24, 2017)