Midnight Essays: My Blog
Salon at the Microscopic Theater
November 19, 2016
I was crying out “Know me!”
all those years before you died insane,
but I didn't know what I was yelling, exactly,
so I was all mush-mouthed,
crying out even as you sank into dementia
still clinging to the fantasy of who you wanted me to be,
believing at the end a thing that was not.
Old Man Singing
His voice was dry and gritty.
He couldn't go as low as needed,
Nor as high.
He was conflating two early-Beatles.
(One was "With Love from Me to You.")
He'd found one note that fit his voice,
And he kept coming back to that one --
The one within his one-note range --
Giving that one his all,
Jumping ahead, skipping two whole lines
To sing the one extended note
That fit his tired vocal cords.
Thinking he was alone
Out there in his backyard,
Picking fallen leaves
Out of an evergreen bush,
He suspended time to catch some breath,
Then picked right up again,
"Oh yeah I'll tell you something..."
And I listened,
On the other side of the fence,
Thinking maybe he would.
In Poems Spring Can Mean Youth
In poems spring can mean youth
when one fell in love
but it's only metaphor
and now it is winter
really and metaphorically
and though spring is coming
I'll still be in winter
and where will that love be?
That love I remember now
letting loss scarify those old hurts anew
just to feel once more that breeze,
those ancient park trees
and the grass on which we lay
and loved and never thought
the seasons would change on us.
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