Yesterday

 —Poetry and Photos by Cynthia Linville,
Rocklin, CA

 

(For David Theron White, 1966-2024)

LOVE’S LABOURS LOST

You are standing in my bedroom doorway
with crooked nose and grin.
Surprisingly, you are 17
with bare, muscular arms
(football arms) and
a full head of dark curly hair;
then suddenly
you are 29
fatter in the middle
thinner in the hair;
then 45,
the years heavier still.
You must be a trick of light
or of memory—
you are not here at all.
(You are long gone.)
Only the doorway is the same.


(This poem was published in Linville’s first
poetry collection, The Lost Thing, from
Cold River Press.)

 

 

 

 

PSYCHE: GODDESS OF THE SOUL

Everyone talks about peeling the onion—
each crunchy layer
stinging eyes and lips

But I think about peeling the artichoke—
prickly, bitter
but oh, so creamy

A delicious heart at the center—
dipped in melted butter
shared with someone you love

I eat this artichoke and remember you

 

 

 

 

YESTERDAY
For Theron

Cooking eggs reminds me that
Paul McCartney used “scrambled eggs”
as a placeholder in the Beatle’s song
“Yesterday”
and I think of that this morning
as I carefully heat the pan.

As I crack in the eggs and gently stir
I think of that morning when we were 18
playing house long before we were married
feeling so sophisticated to be cooking
    breakfast together.
(You had to be sure I wouldn’t add milk
before you let me cook for you.)

Forty years later, I sip my coffee, butter
    my toast
add a slice of cheese to melt over the eggs
just the way you liked it.
All our troubles seemed so far away.

I heard of your passing yesterday.

This morning, I can almost hear your voice
feel your scruffy young face scrape my cheek
smell the Lifebuoy soap on your neck.
Love was such an easy game to play.

Ten years ago, you asked me if I
regretted leaving you.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so honest.
But I do regret the loss of
who we were together
in those yesterdays.

 

 

 

 

YOU MIGHT THINK I’M CRAZY

        I think that you’ve wild, when you
        flash that fragile smile.
                    —The Cars

On my 50th birthday I gave you back your
    artifacts,
souvenirs from the long-ago-us:
your 1984 driver license
your torn high school football jersey
a slim braid of your thick, black hair.

But I still feel like I’m carrying those lost
    years with me,
still living in a place that no longer exists.
Now that you’re gone, I wonder if you live
    there now:
dancing new wave in your Adam Ant eyeliner
red denim vest, skinny tie, and maroon fedora.

Perhaps we enter the future backward.
Perhaps when we die, we gather up what we
    loved most
and create a personal paradise:
wild with joyous affection
transparent and full of light.

Your smile always contained everything—
May your smile contain you now.

 

 

 

 

Today’s LittleNip:

My heart’s fingers
long and soft
probe your chest for
open wounds
scars
bits of gold
or stone.

—Cynthia Linville

____________________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Cynthia Linville for today’s fine poetry and photos!

 

 

 

David Theron White















 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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