Hallway to Nowhere

  • Sufficient Reason (Poem)

    the day begins.

    tears before I’m awake,

    the absence of you an ache,

    still I rise and open the door,

    knowing that the day will greet me

    if I allow it, and so I do.

    this morning I saw treetops on the ridge

    shine in golden glory within the early dawn,

    a brief bright exultance in the winter’s gloom,

    and thought, “this. this is enough.”

    once I would have demanded more,

    before you and the knowledge

    that love is also a sudden flash of radiance,

    unexpected in brilliance and depth,

    gone in an instant.

    I learned to hold beauty lightly with an open heart:

    dancing snow drifting smoke daggered moonlight

    entwine around my fingers and fall from my outstretched hands.

  • On A Cold Morning (Poem)

    Far too frigid too icy too slick

    To step foot outside without extreme cause,

    So no one gets to try the new recipe,

    Not even the neighbor right next door.

    Sip hot tea and desultorily play Scrabble,

    Beating the bots by far too much.

    More street noise than there should be,

    And wonder if these cars’ drivers are driven

    By necessity, bravado, or stupidity.

    Some combination, most likely.

    Heart hurts, and miss her miss her miss her.

  • Winter, 1991

    My first winter here we had a blizzard,

    With snow so deep that doors wouldn’t open

    And snowplows quickly gave up.

    I was no novice to such weather but still

    I leaned my head against the icy window

    And wished myself back in a warmer clime.

    I did not love the mountains yet, nor this small rural town

    With its strange ways and stranger folk.

    This was unfamiliar in every sense, and I longed

    For the soft cadence of a French-tinged voice,

    The welcome of a cup of cafe au lait, and the offer of buttermilk pie.

  • Walking Shiva (Poem)

    In the early morning I walk,

    The streets still and dark before sunrise,

    The thud of footsteps audible as a heart beat,

    The plume of breath clouding briefly.

    I leave thoughts behind,

    No need of them during this short journey,

    And carry only grief as silent companion.

    A poor substitute indeed, for she would run down the hill,

    Fast and lithe as liquid joy, dancing until I caught up.

    Grief slows me, this knowledge

    That her dying body weighed so heavy.

    Perhaps that was just the fall of my heart-

    I had thought it hollowed- as it died with her.

    I return to the warmth of the apartment,

    And I am alone.

  • Because She Died On A Late Winter’s Noon (Poem)

    I won’t throw sorrow to the winter yet, to have

    Grief blown in gusts through chimney smoke

    Tears mingled with drizzle down window panes

    Loss fractured like hard rime on the windward ridge.

    I keep it close as I would keep her,

    In full knowledge that this mourning cloak

    Provides no warmth with its cold black folds.

    I will let it go in time

    That time when I no longer fear

    That without its harsh comfort I would shatter.

  • The Fact Of Your Absence (Poem)

    I know and I don’t

    I cannot catch up

    My mind stutters

    My heart falters

    My body seizes

    I leave but look back

    I can see you

    Just beyond the reach of my eye

    When I return

    Hand on the door to open

    Each beat of my heart

    Each breath that I take

    Says only

    Be there

    Be there

    Be there

    My tears know

    My tears are wisest

    My tears grant my forgetful entirety

    The bitter sting of kindness

    The salty reminder of grief

  • Relapse (Poem)

    Grief hits in so many ways.

    Today her cries of pain and the fall to the floor

    Have transformed me anew again.

    I am become a solid wooden thing,

    Heavy and stiff-moving yet somehow

    Still possessing a heart.

    This heart sounds like a paper ripped in half as it breaks.

    This heart feels like a knife stab in my chest as it beats.

    I want so much to ease your suffering,

    Would happily gather it into my body,

    But I can’t.

    So I’ll not let you see my distress

    But do what little, what pitifully little, I can.

    O my love, my dearest one,

    I’ll never regret you and our life together.

    But love can ask of us a terrible price,

    And mine to pay is the witness, the wait, and the question in your eyes.

    Please give me a little longer, I ask.

    I don’t know how to answer.

  • A New Year Perhaps (Poem)

    I can say nothing about a new year.

    When did it begin, and how did we know?

    I look back over the past few days,

    Seeking to recall that liminal space that others must have entered.

    I never was there, stood on no threshold,

    Took no step that had such transformative power.

    I attended a party organized to announce this event

    But must have glanced away during the crucial moment.

    My days look no different when I awaken;

    The sounds of the night hold no strange new tones.

    But that evening a stranger on an unfamiliar motorcycle

    Pulled in the driveway, met my eyes briefly, and then departed.

    Perhaps he was the transitionary herald, signaling change with a wave of his hand,

    Leaving nothing but the faintest slick of an oily rainbow

    To glisten on the cold pavement under the moon.

  • What Lies Underneath The Historic Brick Sidewalks (Poem)

    Walking is always a dangerous thing, and the local deities must have their due.

    We offer them pain and loss of face and hope they’ll be satisfied with scraped skin, blood, and shame.

    Sometimes they demand broken bones and suffering prolonged.

    Sometimes they ask for more, and the night fills with sirens and terrible grief.

    Visitors stride hand-in-hand, often conversing or gazing around.

    Residents tread with more guarded mien, knowing the area’s capricious cast.

    We bedeck the streets with flowers hung; place propitiatory wreaths on front doors.

    This illusion appeases us and thus we forget

    That hungry gods must always be fed and so presume to calculate our loss.

    We never think, “It will be my son. My mother. My dearest friend.”

    We never think, “It will be me.” We never think, “It will be all of us.”

    We never hear how the mountains shudder when death plays jigs

    On a cadaverous fiddle and laughs and laughs and laughs.

  • Why I Will Not Sleep (Poem)

    I want to sleep

    Eyes made heavy by the afternoon sky

    Gray clouds pregnant fat with snow or rain or both

    Hanging so low they scrape the trees

    Get caught on vines and utility wires

    That droop further from their weight

    I want to sleep

    Sink into the weariness of the year’s end

    Surrender stubborn wakefulness to winter’s sway

    Not think of anything needful for an hour or so

    Join her in a warm bed and rest

    The beat of her heart gets ever louder.

    Her breathing ever more labored.

    I listen and I listen and I listen.

    What I fear now is silence.

    I will not sleep.