Monday, June 30, 2008

Pink Prelude

As prelude to his visit, we
planted red and pink begonias,
poured Murphy’s Oil in water. 
On step stool, sponge in hand, we scrubbed 
lintel, door, and wood, rooting out
webs, dirt, grime. We windexed, swept
the path, hosed chairs, gathered debris.

Then he arrived and spoke. Some said,
“Sublime.” Some said, “Nectar.”
To myself, I said, “I shall never
be the same.” Touched by his love, I
never was.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Penny Candy

Many moons since penny candy, 
licorice sticks in red, black, brown,
eyeing and pointing, and old Eddie
filling the bag piece by piece with

jawbreakers, tootsie rolls, peanut
butter cups, dots on white paper,
licorice shaped like a record that
unwound in your mouth, kool-aid

inside a paper straw, you tore off
the top and poured the kool-aid
down your throat undiluted, many
moons, many undiluted moons ago.

Squirrel Hill

Grew up in Squirrel Hill, no joke, squirrels  
scrambling up oaks and maples, digging and 
hiding, scurrying, waving their glorious tails, 
flying from branch to branch.

As kids, we tried to capture them, but to no avail,
they eluded us; free agents, beyond our grasp. 
Once we saw a squirrel unearth an acorn.  Swear 
it was a golden acorn.

I raced after my squirrel, watching his every swerve.
from the high branches, heard him singing,
only it was more than a song.  Swear 
I heard him chanting God’s name.

Forget Me Nots

Forget me not
When I am old and brittle
When my back is humped
Like a whale's
When my teeth are broken.
Forget me not, for
I am genuine
I am authentic
I'm the Real McCoy
Forget me not.