in a glass bushmills
neat with a glass of water
back in one swift take
the night still looms up ahead
and those memories don’t fade
other writing
where the heart lies
not here
any more
nor there
any longer
but safely within my chest
where it belongs
doing what it’s supposed to do
and nothing more
not abstract duties
just purely mechanical functions
and let it be known
both here
and there
I’m quite happy
with the way things stand
the heart’s journey
my heart follows a path
toward you
though where you are
is uncertain
who you are
unknown
that doesn’t stop this heart
from seeking
through words
and endless action
the heart that beats
inside you
on sight: for Steve
you can’t see the food
on your plate
I’m told
or read the signs
in the subway
how you still stay positive
is a wonder to me
Rita says you’re deteriorating fast
and who will look after you
we proud men
we fall hard
a tree in the forest
a bear in the woods
I used to tease you about
all the bookmarks in books
you never finished
but later
inspired by me you said
you began reaching
that final page
it’s about discipline
something our kind never lacked
dinosaurs in a modern world
the bones of which
you would seek in deserts
now you only see shadows
where once were faces
of friends of family
dear old friend
my heart breaks again
like it does almost every day
these things in life
are never fair
years ago in college
we played that silly game
of what would you give up
if you had to choose one sense
of the five we are blessed with
it’s funny I can’t remember
what we each chose
but I do remember
what we deemed most valuable
our wonderous sight
eyes to see the world
the people in it
yours were clear
now there is only fog
oh dear old friend
I am no longer there
to drive your car to Texas
or guide you down stairs
in darkened theatres
to sign your name
on credit card receipts
to make you laugh
to hold you close
to face what must be
a future of dependency
the hardest role to play
for someone so stubbornly
self-sufficient
and yet
old dear friend
you stay in good spirits
proving once again
just how tough you are
poised before the new year
I would like to have
only good memories
of this day
this time of year
but I just see hospitals
both parents dying
this first month bodes heartache
for me
so I approach January
tentatively
like a door on a house
one fears might be haunted
for ghosts reside here
and though I see candlelight
a woman dancing naked
friends huddled around fondue pots
three floors of live bands
parties with casinos
and people dressed as elves
dinner at the Duck House
a woman in a tuxedo
and fishnet stockings
tap dancing her way
into my heart
there are still those ghosts
hovering
like birds of prey
waiting for another soul
to stumble to fall
in the desert
that is sometimes
life
a year from now: for friends of mine
often in life
we have those moments
when we wish
we were a year from now
to be through whatever
it is that’s driving us
instead of us driving it
our need to be the subject
not the object
of our lives
if only
you think
I could be a year from now
slip through time
bypass the morass we’re in
be beyond the confusion
the pain the sorrow
be somewhere else
another mindset
different circumstances
if only
if only
I could
but one can’t
that’s the sad truth of it
we just have to trek on
through whatever badlands
we find ourselves in
heading for open sky
and the promise of hope
in happiness
waiting for us
just over the horizon
on character
a person is always
what they do
their actions define
their character
words are empty
unless validated by action
it’s easy to quote poetry
or political philosophy
but unless you live a life
that reflects those words
you are false
a mask hiding your real self
the hardest thing in life
is to live your words
otherwise
why even speak
without the appropriate action
it’s just air
the spiritual aristocrat 2: for Rita/Zhihua
the story of how
you got your English name
you told me one day
a native English speaker teacher
you had at university
couldn’t pronounce all the names
of your classmates and you
that Zhi especially being troublesome
so he put all his favorite names
in a hat
or two hats actually
one for boys, one for girls
and you all picked a name
yours was Rita
and when I asked
why didn’t you change it
to one you liked better
you said no need
I’m used to it now
I remember driving you all over
looking for countryside
so you could photograph animals flowers trees
for the 3 photography classes you took
at Columbia
you would take forever
focusing
before snapping the picture
and the one time in South Dakota
when that buffalo charged you
you got too close
you loved that trip
the herd of wild horses
in North Dakota
the hours you spent
taking pictures of prairie dogs
vacationing in Maine
you would eat 2 lobsters for dinner
never tiring of shell fish
and the weekly dinners
with the Taiwanese
Ranan Phoebe Jerome Theresa Joseph and Snow
my famous lasagna
your shrimp and chives & eggs
the karaoke nights
at the Taiwan Center
your lovely voice in Mandarin
reciting Song Dynasty poems with Ranan
or singing Teresa Teng songs
your kindness to others
the thought you put into each gift
your obsession with detail
in every part of your life
from home decorations
to your preparation for work
to the attention paid to friends
and how my mother loved you
your fried rice a hit
at every holiday dinner
and at NCC
your Saturday morning conversation classes
the petitions students wrote
praising your discussions
your qualities as a teacher
how you would steal my Santa hat
at the annual Christmas dinners
your only fault perhaps
your driving record
but one can’t be perfect
in everything
though you ever the perfectionist
certainly do try
and finally
it’s about values
what you deem important
who you associate with
it comes down to
that old Chinese saying
you told me
you either fly
with the eagles
or stay on the ground
with the chickens
and when I see you
in my mind’s eye
during lulls in my day
I see you soaring
high above this petty world
a tanka: on conversation
conversation is
a key to understanding
but only with one
you truly feel desire
to finally understand
thinking about my father
I remember how he almost stumbled
going down the aisle
in Our Lady of Peace
to pray the Sunday
before his operation
he seemed frail to me
that day
and I was embarrassed
as if I had a right to be
this man who won 26 fights
one summer
who raised 7 brothers and sisters
because he was the oldest son
after his stepfather died
and then his mother
took them all in
to his home with my mother
newly wed
counted out his tips
on the kitchen table
all those years of his life
those tips that kept us solvent
inflated his salary
to make us almost middle class
the glasses sliding down his proud nose
his hand brushing his hair
as he squinted at the line on boards
cut lumber
put up a new kitchen wall
put a roof on the garage
panelled the bedroom
worked every day of his weekends
to make my mother happy
the odd jobs around the house
that only vacation in East Hampton
when he found peace fishing
or the times we went crabbing
at Montauk Point
he tried to teach me to box
when I asked him what dago meant
and told me never to let anyone
call me that again
if they’re bigger than you
he said
put something in your hands
a stick, a rock
anything
but don’t let anyone
disrespect you
and he looked me in the eye
said there’s only two ways you leave a fight
on your feet
or being carried out
on your back
but you never back down
and when I told him of the picket line
at White Castle
of the things being said at school
he said never judge anyone
till you’ve stood in their shoes
sometimes
after he died
I’d have these conversations
with him in my head
and I’d see those eyes
the way his hands moved
when he talked
the glasses sliding down his nose
the sleeves rolled up
the tie loosened
his voice louder than the rest
and I want to say
Dad, I’d like to know
or
Dad, how is it that
or
Dad, what do you think of
or
how come I’m older
than you ever were
why is that so
and I’m sorry
so sorry I pretended
I didn’t see you on the bus
that night I was coming home
and you sat in the front
reading the paper
the lines in your face
deep from all those years
of work
why was I so stupid
in my teenage years
to let that opportunity
slip by
I’d give anything today
this night
to sit on that bus again
next to you
and talk the whole way home
Leonard Durso 