You’re leaving.
The blue van recedes down the driveway and I wonder if the kids have shut their eyes yet.
I walk back to the house, conscious of the pain of the rocks under my feet.
I don’t know why I didn’t put on my shoes.
The house, which moments ago was draped in the warm cacophony of shouts and giggles, now lies silent and horizontal.
I distract myself.
The first egg breaks too soon and the golden yolk slides toward me and down on the floor.
I pour salt on it and wait for it to mend into something I can grasp.
Tears stream.
When will you return?
Category: Poetry
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Beloved Son and Daughter
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Meditation on a Cold Front
Slowly and silently,
The silvery air slips through the night,
Borne on the wings of a whispering white dove,
Who brings me to the presence of the moment,
And inspires my lips to prayer.The cold is forgiveness, after all.
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The Provenance of a Dram
Nine and a half today – ugh.
Stiff legs,
Cold hexagonal tile,
Glow belt,
Running shoes – a little worn,
Earbuds,
Running watch,
Smartphone.Queue ’em up:
Sing the Hours,
Daily Wire,
First Up,
Daily Poem,
Megyn Kelly,
Dan Bongino.
Long enough? Yes.
Push play.Brisk, still, fall air,
Dogs wet noses,
Tail of death.
Start slow.
Breathe in through the nose
And out through the mouth.
Up the pace.“Welcome to the Daily Poem…
Quinquireme…
Cedar, cinnamon, and sandalwood…”Running rhythm becomes poetic pulse.
Time ceases to hurt my lungs.“Emeralds and amethysts…
Gold moidores and sweet white wine.”Sweet white wine? – Blech!
David, Sean, and Bethany need
A midwinter taste of Texas with a stamp!Sharp fall radishes,
Brown eggs laid down sparingly,
Gloriously dead ragweed stalks,
Whispering post oak snow,
Family gatherings.
Love.Friends for dinner,
Pork loin,
Mashed sweet potatoes with butter,
Brussels sprouts with bacon,
Strangely empty rocks glasses.
Brisk fall sales,
Sharing the Bread,
Growing the podcast audience.Try a drop of this –
Kooper’s cooperage,
Oaky honey,
Crème Brûlée,
Apple, cinnamon, lingering citrus –
Oh My! -
Bedtime Acclamation
"I'm getting married on my head,"
My sweet John Robert to me said.
"Perhaps my Dear
Should wait a year.
But now it's time to go to bed."
