On Reading Poetry

Its only a moment this reading of a verse or several.
a moment inside a moment
when an unrequited love is awash in tears.
 when a leaf falls and scrabbles before a chill wind.
when a child slams the screen door
 and offers you a handful of brilliant dandelions
 that fade and droop before supper.
or when the sun rises on your despair
 and sets on your contentment.
a moment inside a moment inside a moment.

Canasta at the cafe

Canasta for twelve

and Mahjong for two.

the society matrons

have taken tables

as they often must do.

lunch

then cards

and tea.

but no idle words distract.

hair carefully coiffed and colored.

dresses or slacks just so.

jewelry: understated.

make up tries to disguise

the faces that have fallen.

one glances at another

waiting a turn

fidgets with an earring,

restless to play.

cards shuffle, faint clattering

another sips at tea

and grimaces

perhaps its grown cold.

so passes the afternoon

in the Greek cafe

and later

they’ll pick up grandchildren

or steaks for dinner

or meet the mister for cocktails. 

Findings

I still find things
that remind me of her
a photo
a box of toys and bowls
a tuft of hair
and then the tears come
and a tightness in my chest.

I miss that old cat.