every time
I add milk
when scrambling eggs
I go back
to your house
in Massachusetts
you making breakfast
and telling me your secret
that look of joy
mixed with mischief
a twinkle in your eye
ah old friend
dead two years
before I knew
and regret
filling my heart
for losing contact
with eggs and bacon
and the sound
of your clear voice
your guitar
on sandy beaches
of our youth
memories
Thanksgiving Eve, 2024: for David
we talk briefly
of politics
neither one
wanting to offend
the other
we still
on opposite sides
of hope
and then
of your son
my Godson
his two year old
and how time
moves on
withour our
particular involvement
just two old friends
5000 miles apart
drifting inevitably
toward the end
that awaits us
but still thankful
for our joint participation
without dreams: for Frank
to be like the ancients
in clean mountain air
a swift running stream
to wash out your ears
to clean the dust
from your eyes
purge what’s in your heart
what’s in your mind
and sleep finally
without dreams
or memories
like the blessed dead
this morning
this old man
these memories
ghosts who haunt
from corners
in the rooms
and whiskey
that old friend
failing once again
this morning
endless mornings
leading to night
to offer apologies
they come
more frequently now
making the journey
5000 miles
or more
that ocean
a continent
those weary feet
worn out faces
they come
to offer apologies
or to hear mine
spoken in whispers
during these long
sleepless nights
with a nod to The Waterboys: a bang on the ear
there was sweet Annie
dark eyed Karen
smouldering Maryanne
the loves of my teenage years
I was too awkward
to keep
others followed later
to grace or taint my life
but those three
linger in dreams
while most others
melt away
and so I send my love
and a bang
on the ear*
5000 miles and more
to the loves
I was foolish
not to use
the words needed
to have them stay
*a bang on the ear is an old Celtic expression meaning to give a kiss or a pat on the head
for JK wherever she is
flea market
there
a flea market
with tables full
of memories
for sale
too few walls
she complained
of too many pictures
on the walls
frozen moments
enshrined
to keep me
company
here 5000 miles
away in time
and I
regretting too few walls
surrounding me
a phoenix: my Easter poem
I wish I were
a phoenix
and could rise
again
to be at that table
among those people
having that holiday dinner
once more
Leonard Durso 