Then Comes

the morning you awake
and realize the little bird
of joy that, unbidden,
used to circle above your days
in air radiant as childhood

has flown far away
into the sky's deep blue.
                  And learn
that from now on the happiness
still possible for you
is not like a fluttering bird

but a foot traveler,
grizzled, straggly haired,
who carries a backpack
strapped to his stooped  shoulders,
and every so often tramps into view,

smiles and offers to share
the cool delicious water
in his dented canteen
before he moves on down the road.

-previously published in IBBETSON STREET


​
By the Year 2011
for my sister

At first the darkness came
along with the dark of night;
it leaned over her where she lay
in bed and cupped her face,
unhappy beyond tears.

Then it came before nighttime,
came while she played with her dolls
or sat in class or at work
or cooked for her family;
and it shriveled her like a sickness,

steeped everything around her
in drooping misery.
Helpless as a leaf,
she had to wait longer and longer
for it to go away.

Until it never left.
And she knew there was only one way
she could defeat it: let it
wrap her in its black arms
and eat her, mouthful by mouthful.

-previously published in THE POETRY PORCH