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FINALLY
It should have been an abruption.That is how he wanted it, how it wouldhave been easier for all but he was notprone to confrontation and so it lingered,depleting, eroding, wearing down untilthere was finally the longed for abruption. He did not see it coming, it camefrom out of nowhere, a fuse litmuch earlier, the explosion…
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WEAVING
A length of threadcolorful to be surealone, easilyignored, sweptaside. Woveninto a tapestrypart of a picturetreasuredfor beauty, ordepicting horrorbut remembered. Countless threadscolorfulalonetogethertelling taleslockedin memory. First Published in New Feathers Anthology Spring 2021http://www.newfeathersanthology.com/new-feathers21.htm
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TAILORING
My adoptivegrandfather could take bitsof cloth, a needle, threadand with magiclygnarled fingerscreate a garmentfit for royalty, to be wornby the old womanliving in the walkup down the street. I take wordsbits of ideasand hope,and with manicured fingerscreate whatI can only hopepasses for poetryto be ignoredby thoseliving nearbyin my suburb.
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WEAVING
She plucks the odd loose thread puts it on the table and finds another and a bit of what could be twine. She weaves them together loosely, with seeming abandon until they are an ill formed braid barely hanging together, a jumble of color and fabric, a true hodge-podge. But when she says to all…
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MORNING BECOMES
We awaken and look at each other as though we are meeting for the first time. Your eyes seem new to me, but well remembered, a place I have often been, which is always new, always where I want to go, from which I want to never return. I trace your chin, your shoulder-blade, and…
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an old writer and his words 