Oblique sun, end of day — Sand on sidewalk casts perfect needles at my feet.
"You must have someone from then — a trusted aunt or uncle? a family friend? Who might remember more clearly, more objectively what happened?" No one, not one from then that I can trust, who knew me, who won't tell.
You decided not to dance, Instead, toured this salty valley Added your tears to our great lake — Missed us while not wanting us — Thought I missed the point, And didn't know I was in the car with you.
Last week's flowers wilted, petals fell, water fouled, thrown away with scraps of food — "One bud" and she added a fern leaf, crinkly wrapper, red bow and smile — Warmly taken, coldly received, Rose lies ignored on sunny table, expanding, spreading, trying to be seen.
Purple paper comes in scores of shades — An inifinity of purples is no surprise — But paper? ...who needs twenty five kinds of fuchsia folios? I just need plain purple and can't find it!
Black-capped bandits in from Oregon, Scattering last year's leaves, Scaring the cat (white as snow lying about him), Jumping, pausing, darting — chaos makers — "Look, Aelric!", then gone, daddy's a liar — What's in that mass of cherry limbs that draws you back each year?
First day, last month — White snow, black shadows — Something moves, sun freezes my hand.
-- with apologies to Bryan Singer The worst is remembered longest, this cumulative burden overwhelms in time — Such as, my morning angers, swirling out of evaporating nightmares, diaphanous, beloved — These fifteen minute irritations parade twenty four hours through your brain Like typing "Guatemala".
He looked like a stiff wind might blow him away, White hair on bent white body, Wrapped in flannel and painful age — "See that man, Daddy?" — Who is he? "Max, Daddy! That's Max" — What does he do? "I don't know — He belongs to the school" — Suddenly, I fear the bricks might crumble if Max does not return.
Troll phoned after twenty five years and asked about the hat — I happened to be staring right at it, recently discovered in my child's closet — A nameless Mexican beaurocrat was moved by a tale of the hat as gift of a dying lover and lost on a train — He took pity — in two weeks a beaten package arrived, hat intact — A Mayan heart believed and a lover was realized — My friend, sensing some universal urgency, knew it was time to resurect this dead young woman, never born — Her love undending, shielded me from sun and rain.