Midwestern moist heat
Heavy, unrelenting
Lacking moderation
Dry, brittle grass
Yellow in its death
He, ashen in his
Calling me by name
One last time
Asking
Would he be ok
Scared, spooked
My yes answer
Belied the truth
A forty year habit
Had squeezed out
All beating and
Capability for life
Massive
The door, wooden,
75 years on hinges
Sturdy, stubborn
Oppressive humidity
Halting the key’s
Turn in the lock
Jammed, unwilling
Like his heart
Sobbing
Attempting entry
Standing in that
Startling brightness
August sun
Challenging surrender
A quarter century gone
Still I remember
That brass handle and
Finally
My letting go
Category Archives: Memories
Where is Impanema
The radio always playing
In a manner too loud
For one person, but two
Floors, this old house
It must dim the echo
Of her emptiness, these
Songs I remember so well
His crooning, whistling while
Prepping his family’s meal
That vacancy of memory
Of his sound, the nightclub feel
A martini sipped slowly
His smoke gently rising from
An ashtray taking for granted
Health, like his favorite singer
Now gone too who sang
With a cigarette wedged
Between fingers, scotch
Waiting diligent on an
Adjacent podium while
Lady is a Tramp and
The Girl from Impanema
Cascade effortlessly
Across the stage
Cherished women
These melodies his gift
Keeping her company
In her hope to soon,
Be with him again
She Misses You
There is a space that hangs in midair
Dangling immediately there ahead of her
Like a rabbit chasing a carrot, she follows
In desperate hopes of catching even a
Glimpse, a scent, a murmur from the mouth
That is gone and barely does she see you
Doing the regular things, the everyday
The motion picture sense of you that
Is repeatedly rewound to save you from
Being diminished or worse forgotten
The one that maintains you flawless,
Saintly and revered by all the others
Is not what she seeks, nor needs you to be
No, her wish is someday, to simply see that
Face, the head slightly tilted back to the side,
The smile content in the moment
Thirteen’s Reunion
The table flooded in picnic food
Unnecessary to choose wisely
At this meal unified in shared
Genetics, a history of salads,
Modernized now in feta, bulgar
Fusilli pasta, plates holding
Just desserts, tiny fingers
Delicately pudgified holding
Cookies, and rolls that drop
Onto the ground, hesitating
In worry if anyone saw, safety
All around hugging each child
These new cousins for the day
Where is the aunt keeping
Track of the minutes, the collective
Allowed to catapult back into the
Pool giggling, dunking under
The rope tempting the deep end
Hours together joyful, uncles
Playing cards, sisters sharing
Tidbits about people whose
Names familiar but without
Meaning to young ears, bring
Snorts of laughter all around the
Pool’s edge, sadness then having no
Place to rest its desperate head
Now, easy entertainment still
In a deck of cards, a swing
A water tap where bright balloons
Soon discarded for easily filled
Solo cups dumped onto the
Closest target in mischievous giggles
The pool exchanged grudgingly
For a ball field, the audience smaller
Bleachers instead of deck chairs
Pigtailed heads still intent on
Tiny bubbles blown whether from
Yellow, orange or blue bottles
Still a happy song memory of a Rose
Descendants of thirteen
Gathering to share laughs, love
Invisible heart strings revisited
The noticed absence for each
Missing member of this
Group where the finally to arrive
Was always greeted with an
Hooray at last to seal the deal
Those giants of our childhood
Imprinted on grateful hearts
That forever want one more view of
Chocolate chip cookies perfectly
Lined up in a baker’s dozen
Remembered Heartbreak
Heartbreak has no words, just the silent gasps
Of breath filled efforts, pain that will not lapse
The taking of my hand, leading me to places
Never seen nor ever to see in another’s face
Startled waking, your callous disregard
Coolness of words used so not to afford
Value in feelings assumed to have shared
Mingling at passion’s door, should not have dared
One must choose remnants left there on the ground
Claw not at what could have beens
Pick up memories, twist away, take leave
Journey to the next and never be bound
In singleminded aloneness now free
Breakfast with Buse 