Wednesday, May 4, 2011


We share the early morning silence,

The table decorated with empty cereal bowls

With the smell of waffles almost burnt

Mixing with the aroma of Laura's hot cocoa.

We share a can of fruit cocktail

And toast with cinnamon and butter.

Gone, the Lucky Charms.

Gone, Honey Nut Cheerios.

The weekly ritual begins our interludes--

Mine between work and more work,

Hers: between homework and play.

First, she’ll wash her face and brush her teeth,

Then I’ll braid her hair, entwining time

And tenderness. We both need to

Prepare for rough and tumble time,

Jump ropes and bar tag, --Bratz

And brownies. But first,

Let’s enjoy the table talk

That time allows.

We’ve starved ourselves

For attention. Now

Let us get our fill,

Meet a need

We both feel.

Everything, and

Everyone, can wait.



Your smoke is in my eyes,

Some might say,

Your cigarettes atrophied

The nerve, stealing vision,

But I have languages,





The pitch of one’s voice,

The catch in a throat resounds

For me,

That hesitation,

That moment of fear,

Of caution--

I hear it.

I hear a smile,

And I hear tears. Sometimes

I hear lies. Sometimes

I hear truth escaping

Without the speaker

Being aware.

I hear illness--

Cancer or common cold,


I pay attention

To words--

Those I hear,

Those I speak,

And those that zigzag

From my fingertips.

I feel words one letter,

Six dots, at a time.

Some say your smoke

Is in my eyes.

While I detest the smell,

Won’t permit it in my home,

It has its place,

It has its mark

Permanently imprinted--

A brand--

That identifies me as Me.

Copyright (c) 2011 by the author