Saturday, July 24, 2021

What Color Are Your Eyes Today


“What color are your eyes today?”
I asked you in my dream last night.
“Do they change to match your mood,
or to match your dress?”
                                          You sighed,
“They change at your command, my love,
as does the rhythm of my heart.
You’ve seen them true and clearly,
you’ve known me from the start.”

Saturday, July 17, 2021

Now that it’s too late

Now that it’s too late,
I thank you every day.
Now that it’s too late,
I listen to your gentle
wisdom with gratitude.
Now that it’s too late,
I would pay more to hear
the sound of your voice
than for almost any other
thing I can imagine.
Now that it’s too late,
I wish I had never let
a single day go by
without telling you,
or somehow showing you,
that I love you.
Now that it’s too late,
I would gladly give up
what little hair I have left
to return to the days
when I could sit in your lap
in your fake-leather recliner
and run my fingers through
your thinning and oily hair,
which I can still smell today.
I am grateful for the final years,
as roommates and friends.
And I am grateful for the early years
of riding on your shoulders.
And I am grateful for all the years between,
even if I didn’t recognize
their value at the time.
Now that it’s too late,
I wanted you to know.

Saturday, July 10, 2021


when my mother died,
i did not grieve,
for reasons still unclear.
i mean not to displace the blame;
the fault, if such it can be called,
was/is only mine.
there is/was no one else.
grief, though, is a form of energy,
and its potentiality
remained long hidden
(but ever real)
in my dark corners.
when my father died,
my grief (now doubled)
manifested itself physically,
with fever and chills
and aching and trembling.
i hid beneath blankets
for days until
it burned itself out.
a fire, not of cleansing
or redemption,
but of pain for its own sake.
what remains has yet to be determined
or is not worth examination.