Breakfast
with Sophia
She wakes on a bed in the living room,
in the dark. She crawls to the foot
and peeks over the edge to see
if I’d been to sleep at all,
then unhinges into a series of karate moves
and says, “Grandpa, I’m gonna beat you up!”
I engage for a short while, then quickly take
to the breakfast table, a clandestine coward.
After one period of fruit loop table hockey,
she eats. I tangle with nocturnal words, aloud.
She lifts her spoon, holding it like nunchucks
and says, “Grandpaaaaw, you a knucklehead,”
then follows me everywhere, with her mother’s eyes,
a pastime of summer fun, all over again.
When she leaves, flowers in the garden droop.
Crabgrass and dandelions peek out over the sod.
I imagine her return as a teen or young adult,
reading this poem to me or saying,
“C’mon Gramps, I can’t dance to this!”
She wakes on a bed in the living room,
in the dark. She crawls to the foot
and peeks over the edge to see
if I’d been to sleep at all,
then unhinges into a series of karate moves
and says, “Grandpa, I’m gonna beat you up!”
I engage for a short while, then quickly take
to the breakfast table, a clandestine coward.
After one period of fruit loop table hockey,
she eats. I tangle with nocturnal words, aloud.
She lifts her spoon, holding it like nunchucks
and says, “Grandpaaaaw, you a knucklehead,”
then follows me everywhere, with her mother’s eyes,
a pastime of summer fun, all over again.
When she leaves, flowers in the garden droop.
Crabgrass and dandelions peek out over the sod.
I imagine her return as a teen or young adult,
reading this poem to me or saying,
“C’mon Gramps, I can’t dance to this!”
The Fifth Floor
When she mentioned Room 504,
I looked over at her.
Do you remember me?
She whispers, no.
I was there...1968 and there was this girl
who sneaked over to the men's side at night
and left her number under my pillow.
She had strawberry blonde hair and freckles,
just like you.
I was the guy who helped catatonic Petey
cut his dinner pork from the bone.
I was the guy who protected the screaming
Viet Nam vet from the callous orderly.
I was the one whose mother brought red silk
Asian pajamas, because I had none;
and meatballs on Sunday.
I was the guy...she interrupts.
Sorry, but I don't remember.
The only memory I have of the fifth floor
was the Poet who would read to me,
Blake's - Tyger, tyger burning bright...
and Stevens' - On the Road Home.
October's Opal
for Sabrina
October is here, once again,
Barely transcending the threshold of autumn.
The maple is turning yellow to orange, to red,
Soon to be bared by winter.
Ah winter, when blankets of bliss
Cover spoon-fit bodies,
Flickering sparks to flames…
Until love of spring gardens
Becomes the rapture of summer bloom.
And looking from outside-in,
Beyond recognizable beauty,
The ruby of jewels glows bright,
Pumping currents of rivers red,
Deep into the wells of every extremity.
Our chest fills with laughter.
When apart, even so brief,
This season stays with you,
Whether I am or not
And your voice with me,
Through wind’s immutable breath.
When she mentioned Room 504,
I looked over at her.
Do you remember me?
She whispers, no.
I was there...1968 and there was this girl
who sneaked over to the men's side at night
and left her number under my pillow.
She had strawberry blonde hair and freckles,
just like you.
I was the guy who helped catatonic Petey
cut his dinner pork from the bone.
I was the guy who protected the screaming
Viet Nam vet from the callous orderly.
I was the one whose mother brought red silk
Asian pajamas, because I had none;
and meatballs on Sunday.
I was the guy...she interrupts.
Sorry, but I don't remember.
The only memory I have of the fifth floor
was the Poet who would read to me,
Blake's - Tyger, tyger burning bright...
and Stevens' - On the Road Home.
October's Opal
for Sabrina
October is here, once again,
Barely transcending the threshold of autumn.
The maple is turning yellow to orange, to red,
Soon to be bared by winter.
Ah winter, when blankets of bliss
Cover spoon-fit bodies,
Flickering sparks to flames…
Until love of spring gardens
Becomes the rapture of summer bloom.
And looking from outside-in,
Beyond recognizable beauty,
The ruby of jewels glows bright,
Pumping currents of rivers red,
Deep into the wells of every extremity.
Our chest fills with laughter.
When apart, even so brief,
This season stays with you,
Whether I am or not
And your voice with me,
Through wind’s immutable breath.
