Notes In The Margin

For the Weekend Wordsmith

Mt. Longonot, 1988
November 25, 2008

It certainly seemed like an avalanche,
the trickle of scree running away
from our boots that had run around the mountain,
and up from the plain, so far below.
Standing here at the edge of that life,
on the cusp of another,
nudging these pebbles down the slope
where they would dislodge so many others
unthought-of and unseen from where
we stood, at the top
of our world, miles ahead
of our friends
who had stopped to enjoy the view.

Pumpkins and Mums
October 26, 2008

I hope he got a good deal
for this small plot of goodness
and light beside the road
from Wilmore to the outside world.

Always a smile, a kind word,
and a better price than Sam Walton,

But three years of bad harvests,
and then this, four lanes of blacktop,
a way to get there faster.

Safer, too, I suppose,
and what price can you put on that?
But Blakeman's Farm, how many generations
digging this rocky earth,
now erased by a broad stroke of asphalt.

Another victim of progress.

So I hope that he was well compensated
for the ground his grandfather passed to him,
on which I stood,
year after year,
choosing pumpkins,

always meaning to come back
for a few chrysanthemums.

Eiderdown
26 October, 2008

And then,
at some unnoticed moment,
the down turns to pinions,
and they're flying
almost solo, if such a phrase
means anything.

A small thing,
making us breakfast before we arose
from the effects of a too-late night.

One can almost overlook,
at least for today,
the burnt pancakes,
the puddles of batter
on the floor and stove,
and imagine them self-sufficient,
getting their own meals,
perhaps paying their own bills,
taking care of us in our
twilight years.

Then, one of them needs help
opening something,
and the other objects to some small slight
or other,
is inconsolable,
and the illusion disperses,
blows away,
in a puff of eiderdown.

For the Weekend Wordsmith

Laugh, Baby
August 15, 2008

Laugh now, little one,
it's all tears ahead -
a vale of tears
through which we mourn
and weep, on even the best
of days.

Laugh, and do not listen
to those who tell you your lot
is a harsh one.
I'll let you in on a little secret,
just between us:
They say that only
because they forgot to laugh
when they had the chance -

thought laughter impious,
thought tears the path
of righteousness.

I'm glad John mentioned
that Jesus wept for his friends.
He'd have done well to note
how often he laughed with them.

So laugh, my angel,
while you're yet a baby,
that when you are old
you will still be young.

From the Weekend Wordsmith

Croissants
August 9, 2008

Flour, some water,
butter - mustn't forget butter,
real butter, not oil or margarine,
but butter -
these are the ingredients
for a memory.
A little Nutella for sweetness,
a café au lait to wash it down,
and the Paris sky
warming our faces and our hearts.