Robbi Nester Verse-Virtual 2017 September

September 2017

I am a transplant from Philadelphia, PA and retired college educator who has become part of the thriving poetry community of Southern California, which includes some of our fellow VVers. I keep myself busy writing, doing open mics and other readings as often as possible, practicing yoga, and enjoying the gorgeous climate in this area. In the age of Trump, I have joined with others to create a community of resistance.

Night Visitors

In dreams, the dead do not remember
who they were. Their faces stay the same,
but not their feelings, fractured in the fall
from flesh. Their eyes are glacial,
words few and dismissive.
It would take a locksmith to make
the tumblers fall in place and let the doors
swing free again between us.

Life swaddles us in plush, in all
the rich distractions of the world--
sunsets that signal as they pass
their message of mortality,
mornings when we cherish each brief breath.
But it seems that once they’ve gone,
the dead see only tied-off ends, the underside,
and not the pattern of the tapestry.
No wonder they’re disgruntled,
sundered from these riches,
gaining access only through our dreams.

Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -FF