Time Before

Time Before

she remembers much
about the years that
followed that dark night
but not much of the
times before
when he owned his voice,
his leg, his arm, the
day, an easy flow

she writes on and on
hoping to conjure
by the inky flow
beneath her pen, the
times before
when shaded coolness
from the sycamore
fell, all gathered round

one summer afternoon
bushel baskets full, of
butter beans and peas,
where she sat watching
his fingers
spread and guide the heart
of her listening to
plop, plop fall in pans

his filling easy
like his Mom’s, his aunt’s,
their voices full of
story passing round
unaware
of the city girl
fumbling with each pod
trying to catch on

Five Short Mako-Style pomes

(Lunes 5 3 5 and variations)

THRESHOLD

Rest your hand upon the knob
Before you turn
Into the space I’ve saved


SPEED

Speed unchecked increases chance
Of missing out
On days uncaught by you


HATE

Hate persuades a fearful place
Deflates the soul
Then hides grave faults


MORNING WALK

Sun upon the frozen pond
Enough to spark
And melt my angry heart


INVINCSIBLE

Time bestows a wealth of marks
Unwelcome all
Except audacity

Scared Space

Scared Space

I write
to open space
large enough for silence.
I listen, become present to
myself.

In The Middle of the Field

The Middle of the Field

I loved Friday nights and football games, played
in cold or rain. Still we twirled and strutted to
their cheers, feet stomping metal bleachers,
hands cupping steam, coco wafting, arms wrapping
round this week’s special friend, as they watched us

stretched out, a long line fronting clarinets,
and flutes, and horns, all stepping to the drums
sounding deep the beat, reverberations,
ourselves believing we were a glorious sight
on Friday nights under lights, still so unaware

today

over the river
a shimmering dance
....thurnderous applause