He and I were post-high school, pre-parent
idealists of the first order
(we have an array of role models to thank)

back then we spent
the better part of our days
on various wards of Norwood Mental Hospital
(we have the selective service board to thank)

amid madness, confusion, and dementia
an unexpected moment of lucid thought
would penetrate their mind’s chaos

the patients would jump to their feet
or clutch our hands
to be sure we listened with care

and from the foggy edges of lost reality
they each imparted some version of their wisest caution:
LIFE FLIES BY • DON’T WASTE IT

so desperate and incongruous was their warning
it felt like a ghostly spirit had possessed them
or perhaps an edict from ancient gods
searing our souls
it changed the trajectory of our lives

we made a choice
and each decision ever after
was shaped by their words
we understood it now
how to win this game of life

rich people have money
wealthy people have time

we never dreamed one day
we’d look back from old age
on an exceedingly wealthy life together
(we have an impressive list of mental patients to thank)

Tall and svelte
more than handsome
beautiful in fact
in our little town
he was the cosmopolitan

in our high school
he was high culture
theater, opera, Shakespeare
our own renaissance man

when his parents were out of town
there were no beer bashes
just dinner parties
where he made us curry and
chocolate mousse for dessert

in our young society
he offered wit and grace
already a most elegant gentleman
at seventeen

in a community of christians
he was the lone jew
from a proud line of
tailors and haberdashers
his appearance was impeccable

everyone could see
he was destined for a big life
fashion design, costuming
broadway, the music industry

he conquered them all
until AIDS conquered him

and we wept

it was more than a tragic death
it was a ritual sacrifice
by an indifferent government
that refused to fund help
for gay men who some claimed
brought death upon themselves
with their sin

fifty years later
there is still
a shard of ice in me
a bitterness that will not melt

Keith stumbled upon this photo today. Seeing their original shop in the very same location reminded me how many decades upon decade Paul’s ancestors and family were members of the Marshfield community where I spent part of my high school years. My reawakened heartache became this poem.

Snowflakes
so huge they look like
shredded toilet paper

falling
so thick and heavy
it seems like a cargo plane
dumped them over the yard

white tissue
dangling and clinging
to every twig and branch
of the trees and bushes

unruly yet breathtaking
like a high school T.P. prank
gone out of control
mischief to charm us
so we fall in love with snow

My hard won lesson
could spare you the burns
if you would heed me
and take the other path

in younger days
I walked that way myself
deaf to my mother’s warnings
I still have the scars

It’s the wrong road
I try to tell you
it leads to heartache
you won’t listen

listening is not the way
of life’s fire
some things only pain
can teach us

perhaps all
important mistakes
must be lived
to be understood

years later
she will stock bandaids
and tissues
and popsicles

she too
will learn despair
as her own daughter
won’t listen

we all touch the stove

I remember how heavy it felt
the handset
of the harvest gold wall phone
with the extra long cord
so you could wander the kitchen
while you chatted

my mouth was dust
my heart was pounding
as the rotary dial
made that sound
like a baseball card
in your bike spokes

a hundred miles away
I had enrolled myself in college
but would be short on tuition
I was about to ask my dad for help

I hoped my plan would impress him
he listened
he paused
he answered
— no —

it would be a waste of money
for you to go to college
all you’ll end up being
is a wife and mother

and he was right
that’s all I’ve really ever been

You say you want to know
how to make love last for 55 years

so we will tell you about
our rock tumblers

plastic marvels that promised us
ordinary rocks would turn to gems
it was a tier one toy
back before app stores

mine on our dining room table
his in their kitchen
grinding away
day by day

after school we’d hurry
to witness the promised miracle
day by day
clunking and crunching
away at each other’s jagged parts

day by day
until a smoothness emerged 
until the rocks were polished
more beautiful and more precious

do that for 55 years
day by day
and love will last

It’s been days now
she won’t answer her phone
or return my texts

she is hiding
in her bed
under her blanket cave
of quiet and darkness

hiding
not from her fear
not from her pain
not from her future
not from her self

they are all there with her
in that blanket cave

she hides
to be found

she hides
to be rescued
to be sure she is loved

With over seven decades logged
I thought I was done with identity issues
my final performance was to be the role of Granny

but Mary lost her little lambs
the grandchildren have all aged out of the cohort
or perhaps I just lived too long

once again I find myself
awaiting destiny’s new purpose
scouring my overflowing list
of hobbies and passions
for clues to how next I will serve

nothing is more thrilling
than waiting for your heart’s whispers
I am tingling

 I remember the day I realized
there is no real me

this old body houses
only replacement molecules
forged from pizza and diet coke
polluted air and cloudy days

the atoms of baby me are long gone
98% of our atoms are replaced every year
returned to the universe
dispatched to new pursuits

science tells me there’s a DNA rule book
a secret code for these fraud molecules
telling them exactly
how they must be positioned
or risk discovery and banishment forever

I wonder where
these new imposter atoms came from
is old you part of new me?
am I part tree or moon dust or dragon fly?

I wonder who had my baby atoms before me
and where my old atoms went
who is breathing me? • what is eating me?
where do I lay waiting for Spring
when I will at last become
a daffodil?

I am everywhere

I am nowhere

I am everything

and I love being so blurry

Each night in less than three minutes
he falls asleep
as I labor through my crossword puzzle

to know the hidden depths
of this old man in my bed
is one of my life’s sweetest delights

when the puzzle has finished with me
and my synapses have had their daily dusting
I curl up and wait for sleep to overtake me

in the darkness of this sanctuary
I feel the aura of his presence
the certainty of his love

I rest in tranquility
knowing
our love is eternal and immutable
knowing
even death can not steal him from my heart

If you’re wondering what got me started writing poems, you’ll find the story here. Or, if you’re wondering why this collection is called Slender Stalk, click here. If you’re wondering where you can read the past issues of Slender Stalk, click here. If you’re wondering where you can read more of my poems, check out my website: Life at 240.

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