Just a tiny pinch, a thought sparkle that popped out of an ocean of thoughts . . . glistening like sparrow wings in the dark . . . no fanfare, no grumpy funeral dirge, no trumpets showing off their muted colors . . . just a poem. A small poem.
Ice along the edges of your frown.
I remember snowflakes, raindrop eyes,
our shadow walks through midnight.
Often enough we stopped to listen
to our laughter making fun of itself,
one eye watching for the porch light flash,
the signal for you . . . time to come in.
But one more drunken moment, please,
under that great elm that had already lived
at least a hundred years longer than us.
Your neighbors didn't mind, they, like
the elder elm, enjoyed the sharp sound
of our voices cackling at the moon.
Woodie o2-22-18
Pride
Ice along the edges of your frown.
I remember snowflakes, raindrop eyes,
our shadow walks through midnight.
Often enough we stopped to listen
to our laughter making fun of itself,
one eye watching for the porch light flash,
the signal for you . . . time to come in.
But one more drunken moment, please,
under that great elm that had already lived
at least a hundred years longer than us.
Your neighbors didn't mind, they, like
the elder elm, enjoyed the sharp sound
of our voices cackling at the moon.
Woodie o2-22-18
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