MOURNING MEAL
Driving by
the American Legion
my head was quickly turned
by the somber six
gathered by the flag pole.
Circling the deceased
and dressed in their cloaks of black
with heads bowed
under hoods of red
they stood.
Turkey vultures
picking away at the dead raccoon.
WELL, IT MADE SENSE WHEN I FIRST SAID IT
Every now and then
I think about
every now and then.
RAIN AND MORE RAIN
I
Looking through the mottled windshield of rain,
an impressionist’s silvery pointillism,
everything’s hazy –
the car in front of me,
McDonald’s where she went for food,
the young boy dashing through the downpour
that age of clarity.
II
Sitting in the car after leaving
the doctor’s office
rivulets of rain
ran every which way
after hitting the windshield
like answers
that couldn’t find their questions.
WHAT WE ALL MUST BECOME
At one time I could cast my line
into the sea,
feel connected,
and stronger than the one
of me
but now, Mother’s gone
and standing, stranded on land,
the fisherman,
looks out
to the fathomless face of the sea
and only hears
Come, it’s your turn now.
John, I really like your poetry and my fave is Morning Meal. I love all that you write but the poetry that really resounds for me is the stuff that you write about your Mother. It is so real it leaps off the page and grabs your heart. It can make you laugh and cry. I would venture to say that even if she wasn't my Aunt, I would love it because it speaks to everyone's Mother, Aunt, Grandmother and so forth. Keep writing. Love, Nancy
ReplyDeleteI can't pick out a fav. SO much wisdom here and pithiness with no sentimentality. You leave the reader with a satisfying taste that begs for more of your poems. And they speak to all of us who have lost our mothers. Thank you, John.
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