August 2017
I am a poet, musician, and nurse practitioner. When I am not writing, composing, or diagnosing, I love paddling out on my kayak, exploring and photographing the waterways near my home in California. My first book of poetry and photography “a clear day in october” (http://www.egjpress.org/products/a-clear-day-in-october ) was published in 2016 by E&GJ Press. A chapbook is forthcoming from Praxis Magazine later this year.
through the rain
train horn blares, we leave
the first station, five more
before my stop. i count them
because it eases the boredom
but nothing eases the gray
pressing clouds that rumble
and spit on the windows
until even the most familiar
landmarks are blurred
if i weren't coming home to you
i wouldn't come at all
used book
cover void of decoration
corners rounded and ragged
betraying the carelessness
of a hundred hands
a thousand hurts
heart of the thing no better
stray lines, rude remarks
pages folded, torn or
clumsily taped together
equivalent of false apologies
for long-forgotten injuries
content remains
accessible, available
back cover closes on unaging smile
eyes full of assurance
hopeful of being read,
remembered
Last Ride
Joseph always knew the end
would come for him,
just as it does for everyone.
He never would have thought
to end like this—
the name of action
lost, the moment missed.
He breathes and sleeps,
but he is all undone, Waits only
for his final passage home.
I change his dressings,
wondering aloud what kind of life
he's had, and what he'd say
if he could only move his silent lips,
what he would want to touch
with fingertips colder now
than they were yesterday.
I picture him, a dark man,
standing proud upon a station platform,
one hand high to flag the coming train;
the other holds his hallelujah bag.
A longing glance at those who stay behind,
by fate or chance, is shortened
as a cloud of steam enfolds him.
Joseph climbs aboard and waves
goodbye.
Author’s Note: This poem is formal and metrical. As an experiment, I broke the lines up as though it were free verse, and I like the resulting move away from reading it with too rigid a meter.
© 2017 j.lewis
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