|Jul/Aug 2006 Poetry|
Walking in the forest
I met a friend who died
a few years ago. Patiently, he followed me
and when I rested... he too
sat on an adjacent stump. He said nothing
and I asked him nothing. We looked
into each otherís eyes. Just like before. Later
I returned to town and turned in.
That night I saw him again.
I dreamt we were in the same
forest. And as earlier I asked him
nothing. He too said nothing.
On Visiting Mother
My mother was once the most beautiful woman in town.
She knew every Andersen fairy tale and every Saturday
she took me to the vegetable market.
Now she wears false teeth. When I visit her
she greets me: Sonny boy! She opens a chilled
orangeade and strokes my thinning hair.
She asks why I have come home so late.
As if nothing has changed, and time
around her has stood still.