Category Archives: relationships

Strange days indeed

this morning,
someone asked me if i had food.
i was driving,
and no one was with me.
this question,
spoken through ether,
was an answer to a tardy dream
i had
of one in rags
who wanted to speak but couldn’t.

black, as a colour (or the absence thereof),
can express thought or intent surprisingly well.
for such were his eyes,
and they saw me well.

i stopped for relief on a gravelly shoulder,
pushing aside fronds and common bush
to tend to business.
being done, i shoved my way out,
and found that burdocks and sundry
had stuck to my clothing.

a tiny twig had gotten between my neck and collar,
and as i pulled it out i saw it held a pale cocoon.
one in want of a metamorphosis,
but stilled somehow.
its furled denizen mummified.
a life never lived.
a waste.

In the gloaming

And Lord,
if my spirit returns,
let it be in feather, fur, or fin-
your creations in the wilding,

whose years seem short to us
but are unburdened with evil thoughts,
and care not for the praise of others

They look to live a life
always in the now,
having scant worry for the future
and none of the past’s regrets.

And when the weathers are fair,
they are so free,
and knowing naught of care
they look to Thee.

***

Art by https://lorbird.wixsite.com/artbylorbird

Ember month

Sundown at Nipissing’s shoreline,
and the big lake begins its freeze.
The soft fire of November’s embers
pleases the eye, but can’t warm us.
I stand in the cold cold sand
that waits for winter’s cover,
and think of unimportant things:
that there will be no more drifting things,
maybe until June.
And, where do all of those greedy gulls go
when the freezing squalls begin?
And, another question, for old Dad:
You sure liked your hot mashed potatoes
with that half stick of butter,
table cream,
salt & pepper.
Why can’t we eat what we like, Dad?
Without dying, I mean.
I just can’t…
no more.

Are you talking about that little girl that was murdered?

Leland,
she was yours
by accident of birth.
But your stunted love
sprouted to garish green jealousy.
Control was all.
Sully her
so she’s no good for anyone.
Then consort with Bob
to kill her for what she’s become.
May you char on a slowly-turned spit,
and heal each day anew,
in Hell.

Bad Laura

Oh God. Please. Not this day.

The mossy ceiling fan slows,
and blows the dark down the hall to my room.
And I know he is coming again.

I’ve named him Bob, you know.
His dark is charmed.
Bestial.
Always, I cannot move,
or even see him through the soot.

And he climbs upon me and pants.
With an insane laugh,
he eats at me.
Handles me hard.
Tells me I am bad.
Bad bad girl.
Bad Laura.

And he says
until next time.
And he knows I will not tell.
Because then they will all know.

I am dirty, so dirty,
and can’t wash it off.