The house is quiet again
all things-children put away.
If I close my eyes
I can hear their laughter echo,
see small bodies
clambering on to youth chairs.
Stillness surrounds me
memories sustain me.
Families, and time
move on.
Toys packed away until another time.
Night comes earlier to the dark of soul.
Blind to the stars
the universe appears as India ink
dripped from the Master’s quill,
one unending amorphous black blot
across the everywhere sky.
Penciled eyebrows arched in surprise
bright red lips and stiletto heels
short white gloves like her mother wore
and always a billowing skirt,
crinolines attached for extra flounce.
She struts through life to decorate the scene
takes center stage to raucous applause.
Shoes come off, skirt removed
she twirls it above her head
three loops, then let sail
caught by the lucky wide-eyed man
sitting in a front row seat.
Each movement choreographed
her legs curve round the rope.
She ascends high and higher still
seeks the spotlight’s heat,
craves this life,
to dangle and curl
high above the circus floor.
She grew up in a poker face house
curtains drawn, emotions stuffed
inside walls, inside heads, inside everywhere.
Except anger. Sometimes it came flying out.
After a lull. Unexpected.
So loud, it shook the rafters.
No wonder she flew the coop,
using that old vernacular.
Married, with kids, she broke the mold.
Babies babbled, inside and out
sometimes screamed, mouths wide open
no plugs, pacies or binkes allowed.
I love yous and table talk
campfire banter, tell me true
talk it through to eyes that listen.
She insisted on a barcode kind of world
emotions easily scanned
on an every day conveyor belt.
She wandered outside this early morn
stunned to be alone
last night’s storm, still wet upon the lawn.
She walked the garden
unaware that wisps of cloud
accompanied her overhead.
Reaching out,
she cupped the tulip crown
within her saddened hand
and watched, as petals dislodged,
weighed down with rain,
fell slowly to the ground.
Feet damp and cold,
she sat in one of two chairs
on the cement slab they called a patio.
Eyes pressed shut, face tilted to the sky
she felt the sun, breathed in the lilac scent
and finally understood.
He was the stoic.
Dark clouds simmered
pent-up irks dripped occasional drops
until a stream of bile broke through.
Thunder rolled
in a whirling microburst.
Words spewed and spat,
scarred and seared their hearts.
Quiet seeped in like bone chilling fog
smothered senses and eroded trust.
The gulf widened at forever high tide
bridge collapsed, gone
no crossing, no return.
What stories will you tell?
Tales shared from mouth to mind
or those visible in sepia tones.
The giant oak’s shade
comfort for so many,
bark rough hewn and silent.
If I leave this place,
will you remember?
If I step into the shadows
blend into the crowd,
where will you be?
I will still be here
in your universe,
or not.
Chamber for metamorphosis
cells, toes, body, mind
meld, breathe, grow within
seek and find
passage to the world.
Cord nurtured life
cut, but not.
Tether stretches,
sometimes taunt
always there.
Fingers clasp, spirit touches
eyes smile, seek and find.
You were the beginning.
You are the constant star
an infinite circle of love.
West School, still here.
That metal bar around the schoolyard,
smoother now. So many years
of little hands sliding along its surface.
I bend low, touch its coolness
and you’re with me again.
Junie with the short dark hair.
Eyes closed, I see four anklet socks
in plain brown mary janes
kick up and over the rail,
cotton dresses in laughing faces.
Up the street, a car alarm blares.
And just like that,
your laughter floats away,
my hand lifted from the bar.
WRITING PROMPT in my June Challenge class: recall a memory of someone, what provoked the memory — a scent, a place?
lillian the home poet 