the night before thanksgiving
for my friend
who grieves
the loss of
his wife
his mother
her father
his friend
his lover
her future
in mourning
for family
dreams and
memories
lost bearings
woven heartstrings
closet imaginings
a sense of
reality that
was moved away
from a center
that never existed
grieving
what we thought
the world perhaps
the galaxy was
meant to be
moved so far
in time from
romance
hope and
intelligence
fences took
us toward
a safety that
never was
quite found
the hope for
death as an
aphrodisiac
relief from
confusion
lack of clarity
frustration
that all our
gifts lay
wasting
yes it
was no where
near as pleasant
as should it
ought to have
been
we walked
away from
sunshine
into a
profound
sadness
why
not one
of us
has the
answer
so much
was given
so much
was lost
we prayed to
our gods and
mostly it
was futile
loved ones
died and
we were
left with
frozen nothings
even photographs
of childhood
brought pain
sin was ne’er
removed
we were duped
into belief
future
came
and went
into an
irretrievable
past
poets
all of us
lost behind
a giant
oak tree
singing
through
the wind
and rain
waiting
for a
sunshine
that might
stay for more
than just
a day
sounds of
children
laughing
bring the
most of us
to joy
others
linger with
the ticking clock
shoes that
are too small
nightgowns
never worn
packages of
presents
unopened
lights
dimmed
far too
low
quiet
that is
not the
least bit
soothing
smells
of times
and people
waiting
for something
that never
had a
chance
to appear
white
taffeta
draperies
reminding
us of
wedding
days
when music
played and
people
danced
and plates
and glasses
clinked
who was
there with
us were
we there
alone
dirt
cold
from
thawing
snow
grass
not totally
dead uncovered
chilled
earth
forgotten
plans
all the hours
of laughter
working some
small job
with folks
we loved
enjoying
simple pleasures
milk deliveries
letters from
another place
clotheslines
filled with
freshly scented
laundry
newly mowed
grass and
clipped hedges
freshly painted
shutters and
squeaking
cleanly windows
new aluminum
ladders
detached garages
neighborhood
swimming pools
gently flowing
rivers
towering pine
trees
falling leaves
billowing clouds
and newly
sprayed guard rails
elementary
school
photographs
spring flower gardens
children\
practicing
musical instruments
school plays
choruses
church bazaars
foreign languages
smells of pot roast
stew spaghetti
children playing
baseball
hide and seek
jump rope
riding bicycles
and raking
leaves
father’s
car at
four o’clock
mother’s
dishes
on the
table
dinner
conversation
homework
television
bath-time
bed
the days
were glorious
even as they
sped from
not one
to too
many
time spared
none of us
the truth is
all of us
tells an
individual
story about
the same events
which take
a totally
different meaning
with each telling
and in the end
the telling sits
upon a shelf
somewhere
waiting to be
retrieved
dreams died
so they might
awaken in
some new
place and
time
we know
everything
and then
we know
nothing
and both
of these we
do ferociously
it all
makes sense
eventually
we have
nothing
and then
we have
everything
a nd then
all of it
disappears
we think we
are observing many
things that are
observing us
we can sigh
in relief once
we see the
continual ebb
and flow which
does not need
anything about
us
there are
simple
pleasantries
we can always
gather
the smell of
food flowers wine
the look of
fashion fields freedom
the sound of
forests farms friends
the touch of
fathers families feelings
the taste of
failure frameworks figs
it moves us
once we
realize
more is
behind us
than ahead
but we
all conveniently
forget this
over and over
and over again