It was the time she missed most.
She mistook it for something else; some large energy
force that she wanted nothing more than to resist.
When the song played and the time in her heart stirred,
she remembered her youth and freedom and whatever was next.
It wasn’t what she thought all along. Relieved, she tosses her
shoes in the closet; realizing that the dust she tried to wipe
clean from her heart was only a memory of space and time,
dribbling out song by song; mattering only to her.
A breeze comes through the window, blowing fresh air
on a night just on the brink of Fall.
Leaves turn color, they fall and move on; and so did she.
FROM THE GARDEN
A soft blue haze of distance
or is it smoke
colors the far mountains and obscures
the path they left
their footprints. Color of longing
long shadow, their stride
lengthening into afternoon to
You've sat on the porch
remembering how beautiful.
Hair washed gold-vermillion in sun-
set, her laugh plashed
water in the fountain. Lost
alphabet of that laugh if you ever
really heard it.
His eyes haunting with light
gone, silence. Questions
they left behind,
old stories gone blue
The children beg for a book
of old pictures. Ancestors with that
solemn look of understanding
life is loss, the way daylight dims
to dark no matter how you turn
your head, you can't get the right
angle, there's no shutter speed
for that kind of movement. We're
almost out of light. The photos
with their dead smiling eyes.
No longer can you be sure of names,
one face fading into another.
Radio static, disappearing ink.
Sand of memory, a paved-over path.
Dust to ashes, ash to dust.
This white photo in your hand—
Make up the story as you go.
Moon peeked between the trees
blinked in and out
with its glorious glow.
It turned heads
made people stop in their tracks
It again took over our viewpoint
by only casting a shadow.
We followed it through the night
Starting as the sun went down
and it would crop its face between clouds
it lit up the dark night
and accompanied smiles.
We watched it as it sparkled
amongst the stars
and made its presence known
in the dark gloom of the night.
It made our hearts sing
as it danced with planes
skyscrapers and jumped
from rooftop to rooftop.
We prayed by it,
kissed by it,
dreamed as it watched over us.
Truly powerful, Truly powerful, indeed.
Some nights its color changes
but its beauty never fades.
Still it always steals the show
causes many to change their tune
and take notice of the little things.
What a wonder this moon.
What a delight, what a wonderful sight.
Comes into our lives quietly
but causes such beautiful commotion.
It’s so exquisite, so striking,
so gorgeous, so lovely, so eye catching
so so ever wonderfully infinite.
I see the naked fire in your eyes
wonder why so often
you let witches overtake your soul.
When I first met you
your soul was so pure
you were so gentle with everyone
people were caught off guard.
Your untarnished beauty was such a sight
that it almost made you heavenly.
Now you were cracked
your body rough to touch
your tone of voice scolds others
when it used to soothe.
You are in a funk
your tune is constantly on the blues
I wish I could change the station
play a song that wasn’t about sorrow or death,
I want to hear a song that makes us both smile.
Your walls are always up
no matter how I try to break them down
they never crumble.
Never do I see the real you.
The woman I knew is gone,
I don’t remember or know
where she has gone.
I do not know how to wake her;
repeatedly, I knock at her door.
—B.Z. Niditch, Brookline, MA
A day is here
it's time for peace
by a self-addressed poster
from these field glasses
for a future world
airs through nature,
a tree, lilacs, fruit
through a wind breaker's
pocket hiding for later
wrapped in memory.
Oh—and Medusa has a new Facebook album from Katy Brown's trip to Michigan—check it out!