November 2024
Author's Note: Oct. 31st marked the first death anniversary of my brother. A year has gone by when I could hardly write, even less words of hope. Silent connection with the poet community has been my greatest support. Here is an attempt to build faith again in wake of grief and loss, a tribute to my brother, written on his birthday.
Quiet again.
Following a burst of meows
and impatience.
Ceiling high panes
conceding the phantom arching
full moon maple,
my silhouette spanning stone bush
by the yard, dark.
Shimmering white of curtains.
Girls hurry in, turn the lights, bright—
Do they know it’s your birthday without the cake!
And will always be so, the 75th, A Happy-Day as in your passcode.
Father’s gramophone played upon the lawns,
songs of forties on freshly watered grass wafting the earth.
Until the needle hissed in circles.
Bubbles are bursting in the buzzing kettle
and garbage drums are drawn onto the side lanes.
Voices of neighborhood, I hear
as the sky releases the dawn,
an hour Alcott and Merry have waited for.
Now, they are on the windowsill.
Quiet again.
Until the sun slips down the cliffs
over the bench by Coyote hill,
until
the tide returns to fresh footprints.
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