A 40 Year Continuum

Whispers drift and dissipate into a canopy

of the dreams of youth,

Two lives bound, still, by a diaphanous thread

           . . . tattered now

by time

   by tarnished illusions, protective barriers

 

Found again by some inimical twist of a shared

love of freezer beers and fritos; polar temperatures,

    rainy days, crusty bread and

    history long ago

 

And how perfectly she fits into his shoulder,

their fingers entwining as though they’d walked

to school

     only last Tuesday

 

How his eyes, known to her beyond the chill of

empty spaces and foreign borders,

reach

   into her quiet sadness and

                                  smile

 

And how time wobbled as

soft skin and surgical scars

     touched

        like echoes . . .  not earthquakes

And she understood their

    unspoken reserves

each and both, together and alone

shared and unfathomable

   across miles and millennia . . .

 

Yet. when winter’s first snowfall

skates across their separate windows,

    Far away, where only memories reside,

an errant spark flickers in his fireplace

and

  “sogni d’oro” he whispers to her

as she snugs deeper into her

           dreams.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

'.. And how perfectly she fits into his shoulder, - their fingers entwining as though they’d walked to school - only last Tuesday .. '

There are so many heart-beats and ticking history in this wondrous writing, 'tis hard to distinguish between them in spite of the obvious passion and hard-to-forget memories and thoughts. That touch of Italian, those shared simple delights mid the flow of emotion - start to finish - is truly moving

Beautiful, dear you, beautiful.

[J]

thank you for your heart, dear (((you))). it is nearly impossible not to have expectations in light of all those "first love" memories that never really leave us. but alas, 40 years proves an impossible bridge to cross when time's way has been less than kind. one really can't go home again. this is a bittersweet ode to how life truly weathers the soul, though veiled under words of congeniality. it took me 6 years to write this without rancor. xx

[Kelly Scheppers]

...there is no denying your style...even the font bares whispers of your name, and the reading of each verse is like a freefall.

"And how perfectly she fits into his shoulder..." ...seulement vous, ma chere!

Love you, girl!

[J]

sweet sweetpea -- your words are finer than the work itself! "... and the reading of each verse is like a freefall." you truly humble me, dear friend. freefall is a wondrous thing ... love you xxxx

[wordman]

a beautiful poem of love and lingering memories that seem to have re kindled

[J]

hi wordman! how kind of you to stop by and share your much-appreciated thoughts. thank you!

[wordman]

it was my pleasure

[SkinlessFrank]

lovely....and these are are the dreams that make sleeping bearable and waking possible

d

[J]

thank you d :)

[Ed Hart]

and here's the surface of it, all mournful and appropriate...poetry, art, polished; deep down there's this other thing

[J]

you know me so well it's scary. sure could nevvah put one over on y.o.u. i waited....and waited.... and waited some more. "polished, poetic" it sits in its pastoral prettiness. it takes years to do this! but that other thing ... yes well, that thing bites the heads off fireflies.

thank you for you, ed. love......

[Ed Hart]

the two poems are the key to the dream