A survivor, shopping

he totters forward

leaning on the grocery cart

hair as white as moonlight

his face wrinkled with some tragedy

I think

his hands, knobby with arthritis

a white knuckled grip on the cart

he pauses in the rows

and rows

and rows

of abundance

selects a package of coffee beans.

as he stretches his hand forward

I see it

a ghostly string of tattooed numbers

on his forearm

I wonder

how he can carry

 the weight of memories

of a place so inhumane

then I turn away

looking down at my own arms

and find a sleeve

to wipe my eyes

Bedtime Poem

Bedtime poem

Cat curled close

On the blanket

Rain slips softly

From  eaves to gutter

To down spout

The darkness is complete

To the lawn

Where annelida awaken

Cat crowds me

Now against my thigh

Now across my lap

A poem or two for good

Dreams awaken as the

Pillow calls out

Spin out the night

In the wonder of dreams

Of places that seem normal

Behind my eyelids

But curious puzzling

With the dawn

And in the morning

Cat stretches yawns looks at me

The door

Me

The door

And the air at the window

Smells like worms