In this morning’s dream, she handed me an egg cup. In it were her wedding rings, her earrings, and a gold chain strung through a cross. As I held it, questioning, she folded my hand over it, saying “Bury these beyond time. Bring me the new.” I had not seen her for many years and, having no track of her life, felt confused and of small use to her. Sensing this, she pushed back my closed hand and said “You will know.”
All unknown
That melody you once heard, but could never find again. The one that came back in a dream, then was lost once more in the surfacing of the day. Look for it, my dear, in the half-heard fade of that nameless tune that otherwise was base and common.
What is the last thing you learned?
I learned some things about Portugal.
Rhonda
~ I felt the x-ray blue of ghost bones as you stepped into last night’s silent dream. I knew your glow: the afterimage of my blinding from your sun. Poems I write, so often nondescript, come back to you in the end, and you will never know, my friend, for in your afterlife you wander far.~
Have you ever performed on stage or given a speech?
Both. Have been in a band, and gave a speech at my nephew’s wedding in a thousand year old church.
What book are you reading right now?
A Canticle for Liebowitz.
~ House ~
The staircase to the loft is steep and narrow, but its bannister has stout pickets, closely spaced and solidly anchored. The mid-way landing is spacious enough for the litter box, which the cats use with wild abandon, especially in the middle of the night. The stairs leading up from it offer a selection of heights, convenient for the cleaning of such box. The bathroom is small and has low water pressure but is well-lit and has a deep tub with jets. The water is also free. The box spring for the bed would not fit up the low-ceilinged staircase, but I found someone who had a split one which they were giving away. I have decided I like my bed on the floor, rather than supported on rails, and so I found someone who needed the rails and bed frame. There is much traffic noise, as this farmhouse is very close to the highway. It was was built in 1948, and there was no highway then. The noise was, at first, a bother but has now become a lullaby of sorts. Even the nightly train whistle is a part of the construct and would be missed if stopped. There is no heat in the upstairs bedroom, so I will buy a small heater and close the door in the winter. I have heard that it will be very hot in the summer, so I will deal with that. We have a large property with outbuildings and, further back, a fire pit. There will be no leaves to rake in the fall, as the trees are all evergreens. There are no ghosts, though I once fancied I heard furniture move at three in the morning. The ambulance depot is two minutes from here, and the hospital fifteen.
Observance
One
believes that a seed is fully birthed and aware,
after its fall to the grass;
has noticed the spontaneity of a trunkless tree
with its seven arterial arms;
has looked away quickly
from those in their guarded moments,
indelible though these memories will be.
Knowing
We have met old men on the sidewalks.
One lay prone, half on the grass, and, reaching up, said “Thank you for my coat. Thank you for my shoes, and for the air- my food.”
Behind us, one day, we heard a scraping and a shuffling, and we turned to see this one man who was dragging a sizeable branch. We, perplexed, said a pleasantry, but he said only “I am going home.”
A third sat propped against a young oak and smoked something that was flaming. Its fume was fragrant, and he smiled and wrinkled his nose.
And this old man feels a dwindling in his heart, a barrel in his chest, and walks on tin man joints. The brain and courage dwindle too, but the smile is knowing.
~Brother~
Expecting a rude tin can— “Here, this is what you can afford”, I opened the entrusted six-by-six box with my car keys (here, this is how prepared you were). Inside- his ashes, of course, but in a dark red bag of the thickest velvet I had ever felt, drawstrung and tasseled in gold. His remains (bone-beige, of course) were like so many grains of rice, though I thought of them as seeds. Tomorrow, I will be down by the riverside for the casting and the crudest of blessings, with a hardy shrub for the planting, and with tears, I expect, still unshed.
Aremyfeetofftheground 