Once he was going to be a concert pianist, his fingers shaping his whole future composing and performing to wide acclaim, the dreams of a 12-year-old plus his mother and the teacher who discovered and showed him his best musical self.
Three years on a decade of lessons ended on the same bench where his feet once dangled. He had grown into a visionary aware of many possible bright futures with the boldness to explore new dreams and the youthful wisdom of letting go.
I almost forgot to write something today for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon, but managed to get something knocked out after all.
The Window By My Bed
I was often sleepless even as a child and watched the night unfold outside the window by my bed, knew which neighbors came home late and stumbling, which other windows of other houses would have a light on at midnight, became familiar with the erratic shadow theater of moths and bats playing out around the streetlight on the corner, the same one where the big boy from a few doors down would stop many nights to extinguish a tiny red glow, flicking it away into the dark, before exiting my field of vision himself, leaving a faint glimmer of mystery lingering on.
From the closet each April I retrieve my most valiant protector, a woven oval of straw, a simple band of blue fabric its only flourish. Not all heroes are flashy with a complicated backstory. Sometimes a quiet, stolid presence provides the most effective aid, and I have learned the pain of disregarding this fact.
Seventy-four species identified by the app on my phone. One more, I get a badge. Puffed up with my near achievement I scout the neighborhood park for a plant or critter to put me over the top. Across the creek, frilled white bonnets bob in the breeze looking freshly laundered, each one framing golden lips lined in red, puckered for an expected kiss. My phone app says seventy-five is Poet’s Narcissus. So perfect! Were these placed here just for me?
My day seven entry for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. This is another one that feels somewhat unfinished to me, but I’m calling good enough for now.
Wayfinding
Pick an escape, any escape Knock on the door of fate What does the glass orb show? A way out or a way in? Which way out, which way in? Or is the vision dim? Let the stars chart a path If no path can be seen Venture into the darkness. But take a light. Pick a light, any light.
My day six entry for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. I decided today to follow their prompt which suggested using rhyme in some way. I have a feeling I will add more to this later, but for now I’m calling it done enough.
Things I Am Choosing to Ignore
The widening crack in the bathroom wall The box of “decluttered” items in my entry hall
The plan I made for this day last night The opportunity to make that right
The distance between my heart and head The number of books on my list “to be read”
The conspiracy theories of a stranger A growing sense of impending danger
Criticism from people who have no clue And the agendas they want to pursue
Day 4 entry for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. For this one in particular, I feel the need to remind everyone it’s a rough draft. I only had a few free minutes today. I chose a list of random words and tried to connect them without overthinking.
Among Faces I Know
Among faces I know Time has made many deep Change coming in the enrichment of details Dimes spent to cover the etchings, Pursuing erasure, can only stretch so far The face will do its job of showing the Threads that create a life story May my eyes seek the depth, the details, The story, the human within the story
Today’s poem for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon is based on a true story, as documented in these old photos.
Dismantling the Sled Run
First we have to prune away the brush, tendrilled fingers clutching what once made ours the coolest back yard on the block, every good snow of every winter several years running, the wooden platform a launchpad to my husband’s feat of engineering, the curved track where kids hurtled themselves down our hill right at the fence until the sled run sent them spinning away thrilled and dizzy into harmless white fluff. Then up again to the back of the line, a conveyor belt of children on continuous cycle. We were famous a dozen years ago in our neighborhood.
In the back corner out of sight it’s stayed all this time until now wood rotting, vines creeping over a forgotten monument of an earlier era lost to time, vegetation, and pill bugs. I expected tears but shed none as we wrench off the legs, wrestle loose the pieces of old planks from roots holding them in place, freeing this small spot of existence from debris of the past. This corner of the yard might have a future. I uncover a patch of bare earth, the soil dark, healthy, waiting rich with possibilities.
For anyone who has been meaning to get around to purchasing my ebook of poetry, published in 2020, now’s your chance to get it extra cheap. From now through the end of the year “Past Life” is on sale at Smashwords for $1.49.
Nomadic Noesis 