His Shoes
His shoes
empty of him
lay as though discarded
one on its side
shoestrings dangling
still hold the shape of him
his magic.
Can you tell I loved him?
i feel exhausted
trying to harvest
love
i was never given
in the first place
(yet there is so much safety
finding comfort in my own arms)
Only you understood why
Mom’s room was kept shut
at all times after she passed
locking in her scent
mingled with gardenia candles.
Her favorite flower chosen to linger
for me to cling to, even I was unaware.
Secure with you as my anchor
your pearl in a shell.
Now I flounder lost at sea without my mate.
The June humidity and lush lawn growth have given way to mid-July heat and the browning of the grass that happens every year.
The mowing was easy, but the sweat still came freely.
I move into the deep shade on my patio lounge and slowly put the full weight of the week into a chair.
The mid-afternoon sky is pure blue, with towering, puffy-white clouds that glide quietly past the opening in the canopy of old-growth maples.
I settle deeper into the lounge and feel my fatigue drain through it and into the earth. The shade further envelopes me.
A woodpecker softly taps out his midday meal, joined by robins calling to each other across the field.
If you lie very still, you can actually feel the earth rotate.
A small propeller plane putters nearby and I wonder where it’s heading.
The ice in the sweet tea settles to the glass bottom with a soft clunk, becoming as comfortable as I am.
I open my eyes and the sky is darker blue, with purple at the edges of the opening in the trees, and I hear the rhythmic tapping of knife on board from the kitchen.
Then, the spit and hiss as dinner is tossed into hot sesame oil in the ancient wok, and the intoxicating smell of pork belly, spring onions and garlic fills the air.
If I stay perfectly still, I can remain in this moment, like when you try to stay in a beautiful dream.
This may be heaven.
I bought a handheld Celtic harp,
and tuned ten strings to ear,
plucked a chord then sang it sharp
in that ancient harmony.
My voice no longer clear
like the air by Ireland’s sea,
and the red had faded from my hair,
no longer a call of the banshee.
But I remembered with all my heart
the ballad that I sang,
and no mistake could be made
of my Celtic heritage on that day.
A man pulled up next to me
