The Shine Journal

 Fin

 
The last time you held court,
your bed loomed
huge around your shrunken frame;
flat on your back 
upon the pillowed stage, 
you did your best to 
stay engaged.
 
The Wizard switched your body; 
The Scarecrow stole your bed.
I never saw them til the film,
Thin-skinned traitor,
flapped off the reel. 
By then, the harpies had dug
deep inside your bones.
           *****
We were bantering in French
when you broke off, 
mid-sentence,
mind still razor-stropped,
lips too weak to cut words.
 
So long, lone sailor,
I'll remember everything--
for mom--
You in your dress blues,
gold stripes at the wrist.
leaning up against the rail.
How you eyed her with a hint of lust,
your Hudson River belle. 
 
Mom's projector's jammed since you've been gone. 
I tinkered with it, but it wouldnt run 
forward or back. Your shirts, obedient officers,
still hang without a crease
in the wardrobe where you left them.

She lives her life in present tense,
the newsreel spins remembrance.
Today, we daughters could be two or twelve;
my children might be Dorothy.
Your sixty-two-year marriage, Dad,
an afternoon at the matinee.

 
Acacia

 
I wanted a tree to grow up fast,                
I welcomed the work, though hard,                       
so I could watch a miracle                      
unfolding in the yard.  
 
At the nursery I fell in love
with a purple acacia tree, 
prepared the earth, tucked in its bed,
and then I let it be.
 
Magenta leaves with green below
turned red; the trunk was bare.
The cats used it for a scratching post
but it laughed and didn't care.
 
In spring I woke to a magic show,
gone were the purple and red.
Gold pollen thick as fingers 
burned my eyes and filled my head.
 
The more I coughed and blew my nose,
the more I craved relief.
I ripped its roots out of the ground,
triumphant in my grief.
 
 
Asymmetry   (Truth is beauty; beauty truth)

Motivation: Fin was written around the two-year anniversary of my father's death. It explores the concept of time for those with healthy brains and those with dementia. Asymmetry was a class exercise. We were asked to write on the concept of beauty or beauty as truth; truth beauty. Acacia is an ode to a tree I loved and lost

Bio: I am a teacher, writer and painter living a small northern California town. I find inspiration everywhere, especially in the unremarkable moments of daily life.