THE PENCIL SELLER

 

I walk with downcast eyes
      afraid I might stare at your misshapen body
      sitting on a sheet of cardboard,
      withered legs showing beneath a ragged vest
      a tray of pencils balanced on your lap
      dented tin cup close at hand.
 
Afraid to see your eyes  
      ashamed to be afraid
      embarrassed I have no money for the tin cup.
      The pencilled sign around your neck reads
      Pencils, 10 cents. God bless you.
 
You are a fixture on here, like the lamppost on the corner.
 
I have watched from across the street
      as people walk quickly by.
      A few pause, fumble for some change,
      drop some coins into your cup.

No one takes a pencil.
 
I want today to be different.
      I tug my father’s hand.
      ‘Daddy can I have a pencil?”
      We retrace our steps.
 
Daddy lifts a pencil from the tray.
      Nice sharp point, he says
      looking directly at you
      hands me a fistful of coins.

One by one I drop the coins into your cup
      hearing the satisfying clinks as they land.
 
Your voice is deep and warm;
      Thank you, young lady. Bless you.
 
Now I can look in your eyes
      Why did I expect your voice to be misshapen too?

One Year Later

One year ago, today I gave myself a personal challenge to write a poem a day during COVID 19 isolation. I optimistically assumed that everything would be back to normal in a month or so. After 36 poems, I stopped the daily regime and wrote when the spirit moved me. It’s been 365 days of our new order. To date, I have written 63 poems.

I had a dream of empty streets, a lifeless, listless scene.

Shuttered storefronts, windows dark and blind.

People sparsely scattered, skirting skittishly around;

Eyes alert, behind muffling masks, smiles blanked. 

What happened to the urban bustle, the hustle of daily life?

This seems to be a foreign land with everyone a stranger

distant from one another, no interactions or cheerful greetings;

a mournful quiet; a deep sadness settling down. 

What is this world, so far from what I’ve known?

Is this vision real or a scary made up movie scene?

If I pinch myself, will I wake up 

to see airplanes flying and people dancing

to hear sounds of laughter and music in the streets?

No. Don’t answer me. I know the truth. 

But just for now, let's pretend that reality is a dream

because we can wake from dreams, 

and someday soon we will.

Mmmmmmmmmm?

 Lately

my muse has been muted;

muffled by masks and mixed messages.

But in a mournful moment, I can still make muffins.

(Say that 10 times fast. It's even better with a mouthful of muffin.)

WHERE SHALL I WALK TODAY?

 

Along the road most travelled,

past familiar places and friendly faces?

Across the white expanse of frozen lake

admiring homemade rinks and funky fishing huts,

over sled tracks and animal prints

avoiding pressure cracks and open water?

Perhaps a detour into the woods

For solitude and new adventures?

Or shall I stay at home today

and wait for you to walk to me?

A humble salute to Amanda Gorman

I have seen the face of hope

and heard words that sing of truth

filling the gaping hole deep within the soul.

Ushering in a time to reflect,

to heal and move the rhetoric.

From her heart to yours,

wisdom beyond her years.

Follow the trajectory of the rising star

from gloom to glory

from despair to hope.

Watch while the impossible is dissolved

See how suddenly everything becomes possible.

 

IN MEMORY OF SWEET NELLIE

Sadly we said goodbye to our sweet cat Nellie on January 7, 2021

How do you quantify absence?

The empty space on the couch,
the vacant chair where you napped each day,
the warm sunny spot beside the window
the place on the carpet beside the fire?
 
Constant companion, isolation buddy
there are so many places I feel your absence.
 
I miss the rhythmic sound of your steady purr,
The gentle pressure of your cool nose on my hand
The softness of your fur when we cuddled on the couch,
The warmth and comfort you gave on gloomy days.
The way you liked to snuggle into Peter’s slippers
Or sleep comfortably at his side,
The soft meow of my morning wake-up call.
Mostly I miss your sweet face staring with melting appeal into mine.
 
But sweet Nellie, your warmth still lingers 

and you will never be absent from my heart.

New Year's Day - 2021

 

First tracks on the frozen lake

I think we’re heading

In a good direction.