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April

And in this month
the April of my second Spring
this time of my dying, I remember

Tortured by memories
yet strangely comforted by them
I drink and remember the little things

the things I cannot speak of
My mind will not let go of the memories:
her laugh
Hair falling toward her face
Her walk
But mostly her mouth
that lovely mouth so full of kisses
and words of love.

Yes, I do remember
I remember it all;
all the places
the people
the things, but God help me....

I can't remember her name.

Summers Ago-Maybe

Several summers ago-or maybe it was winter-
I had a woman-perhaps a girl

I remember so clearly now
How blueskyblue were her eyes-
or were they catgreen?

She was fair and blond as...
or maybe dark?

Was her voice sultry like seaside nights
or did she laugh
like a child?

Well, never mind,
I remember it all so clearly now.

Maria

Sunday morning coming down
Saturday-painted women
looking questions; never asking.

Leaving them lying alone
or driving home
not understanding; not knowing.

Women and girls wondering
how I can be
as I was and as I am.

To drink so deeply
of their natures
all Saturday night, wine on Sundays.

{HOME} {SUNDAY AFTERNOON}