PEOPLE TELL ME THINGS

People tell me things.

I listen, I see, I remember,

not lost to me—

a casual thought, a memory, a mood

a moment shared—

spoken, in gaze or gesture.

I fill in the blanks with imperfect truths

from shards of stories

that “never finish what they have to say.”

I create composite effigies-- 

patterns, themes, tales

of grief and gallantry,

magical thinking and illusions,

doubt and faith, beauty and despair,

kindness and grace

love and loss.

Do I betray a trust 

   elevate to myth

     redeem a transgression?

People tell me things and I write.

WABI-SABI II - SIMPLICITY

Early in May

In a wood along a stream

Lily of the Valley

tiny white bells 

silent with simplicity

slender stalks

hidden within

broad green leaves

most fragrant flower

to lull one to sleep

Fading away—

Come again next May

WABI SABI III - PURPOSE

A flowered handkerchief

blue, red and yellow

once a common companion

carried in pocket or purse

in case of a sneeze

or to wipe an ice dream drip

from a child’s cheek

Its most noble service?

wiping tears of grief 

for a life so brief

  

What purpose now?  

In a shop--there

lovely, lacey, flowered hankerchiefs

piled in a basket

purchased on a whim—because

"they are pretty"

I have one in my drawer 

twenty years since placed there--

crumpled, mostly unnoticed 

among a picture, a trinket, a note

an oddity to be found

perhaps when my brief candle burns out

A handkerchief of dried tears--

a memory to one
of service to none--

Then who will remember her?