On the Day I Learned You Died

I go out into the winter night
A mist of snow kisses my face

Snow covered tree limbs arch over the street and sidewalks
Light bounces between the street and the trees
I can see for blocks inside this tunnel of light
But can see little outside of its walls

Scrape
Scrape
Scrape
A rhythm I know well

I walk half a block before finding
A dark shadow shoveling the sidewalk

Lost Time

He picked up the pail heavy with corn. He’d walk the hundred yards to the treeline. Just as he’d done nearly every winter afternoon for the past dozen years.

This was the first year without Caesar. He’d thought about getting another dog, but knew it would outlive him.

He savored the peace when the world is wrapped in two blankets; one of snow and the other of clouds.

Gerbils

You were asleep.
I was nibbling your ear.
You smiled,
And called me a gerbil.
Then told me a story about eating gerbils.

Strange Garden

You say you’ve seen me? It was misdirection. I wasn’t really there.

Come, let me show you where I’ve been hiding. Even my dreams couldn’t find me.

Here is my strange garden. This patch where briers and thistles hug, that’s where I planted my pain.

Over there I buried my shame. See it clawing its way to the surface? Later, we’ll find it conspiring with fear.

And here, I know it’s difficult to see, here is where I hid.

Sitting with the Dead

I love sitting with the dead as I think about life
The Johnsons, Olsons, Andersons, Edneys, Yaegars
Their stories told by the company they keep

The Olson brothers went off to war in Germany
Both lived long lives

The Johnson’s lost two children
Both before the age of three
Two others grew up to marry and have children of their own

Young John Schmidt loved to fish
He waits for his parents
Their stones wait for a date