Moving to Hospice

Arlo sings to me right now,
Can you dry every tear...take every hand that death has consumed?
I know Barbary needs a hand
when her sister passes she'll have a river of tears
that not even my cupped hands will hold.

My dog stands behind me
She's crying and pacing
for her boys, my boys, who have gone
out to play in the field
outside the gate where she can not go.

The sky is light blue, dusk will soon fall.
I see our willow tree greening up along
its strands that hang like pearls,
like a rasta-man's dreads swaying in the wind.
The willow is dying, too.

Now Arlo has played the last notes of
"Gambler's Blues" and the people clap
their hands, whistle. I'm sure they smile
to one another, nod their heads, sigh.
But what of Barbary's sister?

Maybe she's sighing, too.
Maybe she's listening to Arlo right now
remarking in her head how she used to
listen to Guthrie when he first started strumming.
She sighs, knowing he'll keep strumming
even when she no longer can listen.

Memory

That was a bright and bitter day
The phone rang
She called, for the last time,
simply to say, "I love you"
and nothing more.

It took me a moment
to grasp her message
the way her breath caught
like snowflakes on lashes
a thistle seed on argyles

But when at last I understood
her meaning,
it was too late.
There was nothing left
but an empty dial tone.

Felicity

Felicity was the girl everyone wanted to pick
on because she was slow that way,
you know what I mean.

And one time, when she was playing
right field, she wet
her pants.

She didn’t yell at us or
anything mean, though she did walk
away crying

her blond hair sticking out
of her head like
straws in a haystack

her nose snotty and red
using her sleeve
for a Kleenex.

How many times had she heard the words,
be a good sport,
so she was.

Felicity was the girl everyone wanted to pick
on.
So we did.

A Writer's Vice

Carol Jean always takes her coffee black
Like the inky sky on a moonless night
Digging in her pocket for a Salem pack
A pair of essentials so that she can write

Like the inky sky on a moonless night
She needs a smoke as well as a lamp
A pair of essentials so that she can write
She scrawls with a writer's cramp

She needs a smoke as well as a lamp
Both burn holes if left forgotten
She scrawls with a writer's cramp
Black words, dark thoughts--all rotten

Both burn holes if left forgotten
The torment of an elusive word
Black words, dark thoughts--all rotten
Stanzas: first, second, then third

The torment of an elusive word
Digging in her pocket for a Salem pack
Stanzas: first, second, then third
Carol Jean always takes her coffee black