—Poetry by Linda Klein, Los Angeles, CA
—Public Domain Photos
MORNING WALK
I make my way through dense fog,
intent on finding a clearing,
passing old tree trunks, scarred
by patches of peeling, dappled bark.
Cumulus clouds, lined with soot, crowd the sky.
They appear about to burst. I cannot walk faster
lest I collide with the solid body of an oak.
At crossings, I am not able to see oncoming cars.
I rely on drivers' headlights. As the lights approach
I wait, then cross to another obscure block
of dour houses and scabby trees.
I walk carefully, taking methodical steps
on cracked, uneven cement sidewalks.
I duck to avoid low-hanging branches,
a few dry, dusty leaves still clinging to them.
Startled by sudden movement, I stumble,
only to discover a frightened squirrel
quivering as he races up a tree to hide,
his bulging eyes watching me suspiciously.
Atop a branch now, he sits on his haunches,
his forepaws touched together as if in prayer.
I make my way through dense fog,
intent on finding a clearing,
passing old tree trunks, scarred
by patches of peeling, dappled bark.
Cumulus clouds, lined with soot, crowd the sky.
They appear about to burst. I cannot walk faster
lest I collide with the solid body of an oak.
At crossings, I am not able to see oncoming cars.
I rely on drivers' headlights. As the lights approach
I wait, then cross to another obscure block
of dour houses and scabby trees.
I walk carefully, taking methodical steps
on cracked, uneven cement sidewalks.
I duck to avoid low-hanging branches,
a few dry, dusty leaves still clinging to them.
Startled by sudden movement, I stumble,
only to discover a frightened squirrel
quivering as he races up a tree to hide,
his bulging eyes watching me suspiciously.
Atop a branch now, he sits on his haunches,
his forepaws touched together as if in prayer.
ABANDONED
He is a river withdrawn from the shore,
while I lie fallow, withering
with the winds of time.
Even so,
I would not try to bring him back.
No trick, no ploy would work.
There is a chasm between us.
He has receded far from me.
He left abruptly with the tide,
using an artful lie to ease his escape.
It seemed as though he had done this before.
It was cruel, unexpected, undeserved.
Angrily, I thought him a coward, a fool,
so different from the way I once saw him
in a girlhood dream born of desire.
We shall live separate lives with no contact.
He is a river withdrawn from the shore,
while I lie fallow, withering
with the winds of time.
Even so,
I would not try to bring him back.
No trick, no ploy would work.
There is a chasm between us.
He has receded far from me.
He left abruptly with the tide,
using an artful lie to ease his escape.
It seemed as though he had done this before.
It was cruel, unexpected, undeserved.
Angrily, I thought him a coward, a fool,
so different from the way I once saw him
in a girlhood dream born of desire.
We shall live separate lives with no contact.
HIS MEDICINE
A handwritten sign said, "Please keep curtain closed
and door a quarter of the way open."
I knocked hesitantly, not knowing what to expect.
A man's voice, soft and pleasant, answered
with a Spanish accent, "Yes, come in."
Pushing the curtain aside, I saw a whited-haired man
sitting at the window, light streaming in behind his profile.
His pale, calm face turned to look at me.
There was a trace of a smile on his face
when he saw my blue-green volunteer jacket.
"Good morning, Mr. Morales. I have your menu," I said.
As I approached him, I noticed a sketch pad
and a box of colored pencils, a few were lying askew
around his table—pink, blue, yellow, white, and black.
He looked at me self-consciously, trying to hide his drawing,
I placed his menu on the table, smiling at him. "May I see?"
He moved his hand away slowly, revealing an oval cameo
of an angelic-faced young woman cradling her baby boy,
gazing at him with adoration and maternal affection.
"How lovely, a good way to spend your day."
Mr. Morales' smile grew broader. "Este es mi medicina.”
A handwritten sign said, "Please keep curtain closed
and door a quarter of the way open."
I knocked hesitantly, not knowing what to expect.
A man's voice, soft and pleasant, answered
with a Spanish accent, "Yes, come in."
Pushing the curtain aside, I saw a whited-haired man
sitting at the window, light streaming in behind his profile.
His pale, calm face turned to look at me.
There was a trace of a smile on his face
when he saw my blue-green volunteer jacket.
"Good morning, Mr. Morales. I have your menu," I said.
As I approached him, I noticed a sketch pad
and a box of colored pencils, a few were lying askew
around his table—pink, blue, yellow, white, and black.
He looked at me self-consciously, trying to hide his drawing,
I placed his menu on the table, smiling at him. "May I see?"
He moved his hand away slowly, revealing an oval cameo
of an angelic-faced young woman cradling her baby boy,
gazing at him with adoration and maternal affection.
"How lovely, a good way to spend your day."
Mr. Morales' smile grew broader. "Este es mi medicina.”
AWAKENING
At the end, I didn't know it was the end.
I had learned it is a new beginning.
All my ghosts and angels gathered
to comfort and explain, not rage nor rend,
that passing over is an awakening.
We celebrated, for once more, we were together.
The weight of pain and sorrow soon was shattered
by the knowledge we were spokes in the wheel of forever.
________________________
Today’s LittleNip:
BRIDGES
—Linda Klein
There are bridges we build every day,
sturdy enough to hold a heavy heart
as only kindness and empathy may.
Smooth roads can soothe a soul torn apart.
Bridges built with an element of style,
meant to be traveled a lifetime,
designed to evoke a confident smile,
and offering each a lifeline.
________________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Linda Klein for her fine poetry today!
At the end, I didn't know it was the end.
I had learned it is a new beginning.
All my ghosts and angels gathered
to comfort and explain, not rage nor rend,
that passing over is an awakening.
We celebrated, for once more, we were together.
The weight of pain and sorrow soon was shattered
by the knowledge we were spokes in the wheel of forever.
________________________
Today’s LittleNip:
BRIDGES
—Linda Klein
There are bridges we build every day,
sturdy enough to hold a heavy heart
as only kindness and empathy may.
Smooth roads can soothe a soul torn apart.
Bridges built with an element of style,
meant to be traveled a lifetime,
designed to evoke a confident smile,
and offering each a lifeline.
________________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Linda Klein for her fine poetry today!
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