Magdalene (17)
I remember you, George,
Tired as a rain-sotted leaf,
Flat against the pavement,
Gold in its surrender
To the dazed snow
Of your hospice days.
“Worn out,” you said,
The day before
Relinquishing the final gift
You thought you had in me.
I could not forgive your letting go
To leave me hanging in my guilt,
Forgetting you so quickly
In those brittle days
After whispering your last breath .
Poem, “Look Surprised”
I suppose I could want
You more than I do,
But I’ll drift for a while,
If you don’t mind,
Shop among the tourists,
Walk with stray cats,
Look surprised,
When you walk
Through the door
March 22, 2011
Trust
I remember the day. It was fifteen years ago. I was standing outside my father’s apartment. We were engaged in a conversation about Mary, my stepmother, who had just been diagnosed with esophageal cancer.
My dad made a vain attempt at telling me that he wasn’t bothered by my stepmother’s inability to travel. I didn’t believe him. Continue reading
