Remember when we said I love you? Yes and we laughed, old friends. And I asked, “So, who are you, anyway?” Nobody.
Gramma at the nursing home is querulous. Spits like a cat and slaps demanding to go home where Grandpa, ten years dead and her children grown with families of their own wait for her. I too will cry in my foriegn rooms to a bored nurse. Home is a time; A hot summer’s day, Nineteen… Continue reading home
“No man is an island,” so says the preacher. Though, he may live on one. Where he departs to the mainland by boat or bridge he remembers the waves and the breeze off the channel, the wild, high island sounds. All men die islands, then he returns to these shores of solitude.
Today I drove down Emery Road and along the lake- just for the hell of it. I had nowhere to be and the water was perfectly blue.
We can’t always be Johnny and June We’re just too out of tune To get along right.
Better to be one and lonesome than two feeling the divide across tables and couches as keenly as the sea.
He steals in on soft feet, creeping thief like through the room. waiting, I can hear everything- the pause outside and the ragged sigh before reluctant key turns to lock. The finality of the closed door. In the dark he fumbles at the window Perhaps to let out some of the sad and hostile air.… Continue reading