a face westward
a deep sigh
a wayward old heart
torn in two
other writing
this wind
this wind that howls
outside my windows
spraying rain at times
on the terraces the balconies
this wind that moans
beyond my windows
is the only music
I listen to
and for reasons unexplained
comforts me
more than Sibelius
or Ralph Vaughan Williams
could today
so long
so long so long
the coming of morning
so long so long
the lingering of night
where is where is
that glow on hillsides
where is where is
the hopes the dreams
there are dates: for my mother
there are dates
one remembers
etched in one’s consciousness
numbers in stone
and this date
in January
I will never forget
Mercy Hospital
the doctors the nurses
you shivering
a door closing
and crying in Dr. Tassey’s arms
the calls to my sister Theresa
my brother Johnny
and George in my doorway
at two in the morning
our tears our tears
and you gone
leaving this emptiness
in my heart
at home
they say
it feels right
as if there is only one place
that feels right
when there really are more
all feeling right
at any given time
under any given set
of circumstances
timing
as they also say
is everything
and this time
or that time
any given time
finds a place that feels right
here now this
yesterday that
tomorrow who knows
enjoy each place
be at home wherever you are
and wherever you are
will be home
the secret in my heart
your pictures still surround me
in my den
and Mustafa when here
kept glancing back
at you on the bookcase
in the living room
without asking
who you are
but I know
keep you near
all these reminders of
the secret
in my heart
the little things
it’s the little things really
Jif’s crunchy peanut butter
Nature Valley granola bars
fresh ground coffee beans
my Baileys my Black Bush
the sound of a train
leaving a station
I could be anywhere
but I am here
with enough of the familiar
sprinkled amidst what once was
a foreign landscape
for me to settle back
in what has become home
somewhat like Lear
that wind
ripping this world apart
and these memories
raging in me
waiting for dawn
the wind moans
outside all night long
the cat clings
wrapped around my arm
my eyes stare
where the ceiling should be
waiting for dawn
not finished
there
once more
not finished
yet
Leonard Durso 