the candle flickers
the glass empties itself
the wind rustles the flag outside my window
and my thoughts are with you
old friend
you put aside my book to write
to tell me of your heart
memories, you say
of what and who we were, are
you ask when will I return
my company, you say
you sorely miss
I see you
old friend
in a picture on my shelf
your beard now grey
I think
and your hair thin
much like mine
not like in LA
the car ride up Topanga Canyon
at two in the morning
to see a woman we both loved
you huddled on the floor in back
while I drove one-handed
a bottle of scotch in the other
we were crazy then
but somehow survived
you long to hold me close
you say
and I, too, cling to air
we need to share a glass
old friend
let Steve watch us drink ourselves to God
and when the bottle empties
there will be another to uncork
and you and I and Steve
old friend
will retell stories
of pregnant ladies with axes
of Shakespeare in the park
of Leo’s potato salad
of the silence between cuts
and we will laugh
old friend
till the sun peeks through the curtains
and warms the world
once again
memories
Sunday breakfast
every Sunday I make breakfast
eggs with bacon or sausage
or with tomatoes
an Italian style Turkish breakfast dish
olives usually
sometimes honey for the bread
though I like to dip it in yolk
orange juice
and coffee laced with Baileys
I sit later
a second cup of coffee in hand
and can’t stop the memories
one cropping up mostly lately
of a girl who called me poppa
lived in my house for a while
would get up early each morning
to make me breakfast
Korean style
her smile so sweet, gentle
her eyes filled
I know now just as I knew then
with love
but I chose to not notice
being older then than I am now
and convinced it could not work
no future, I thought
as if I could decide those things
and years later
bits and pieces of her
and those breakfasts
the way she would play music I lent her
in her room all night
and though we rarely talked
she would send these incredibly long emails
telling me about her day
the things the music said to her
her future plans
and encouraged by me
she returned to Korea
to design clothes for other women
and to make breakfast for another man
years ago that was
but time has not faded the memory
and she eventually crept her way
into my books
she in part became a character
and a life almost lived
found its way to live between pages
a poor substitute perhaps
but the way things go in fiction
and now a trace of sadness
as I think of those breakfasts
that smile
life in another dimension
so very far from my own
things change to remain the same: for Maureen
it was some fish restaurant on the coast
you knew the owner, I think
and a TV star was romancing some starlet
a few tables away
while you told me about the man
in your life
and I spoke of the woman
in mine
yours a success story
mine one of loss and pain
and we drank two bottles of wine
then I switched to bourbon
you to white russians
and it was close to dawn
when we weaved our way to our cars
you off to Venice Beach
me to Santa Monica
all the guys at I&L would fantasize about you
and ask my permission
to ask you out
Vimal said I was protective of you
and I suppose I was
you were always a bit vulnerable
and me, your protector
the long island kid
you still have my denim jacket
and high school letter
one day I’ll have to travel back in time
to retrieve them
and as you read your poetry to me
this summer in Dorsoduro
I couldn’t help wondering
what was wrong with those California boys
to let you go
your smile
dear friend
it is the same
a thousand years later
and sitting in a restaurant
that night in Moda
I saw the same beautiful girl
you always were, are
no matter how things change over time
some things
you old friend
stay the same
Oh Solo Mio
it was the most melancholy version
I’ve ever heard
and suddenly I thought of my father
singing at the dining room table
his collar open
his sleeves rolled up
his glasses perched on his nose
his right hand covering his heart
his eyes on my mother alone
this song on his lips
and my eyes start to water
it could have been the wine
but I know it wasn’t
and that song will stay with me
in that version
for the rest of the nights
of my life
at night
sometimes late at night
when the words don’t come to paper
and my mind drifts too far from the reading
I entertain myself by exploring
a past that could have been
if I made other choices along the way
to where I am today
no good can come from this
but it does reaffirm the present
since whatever I could have done
or might have been
would not have allowed me to know
some of the people whose lives
intersected with mine
and having those people, those memories
still alive in my heart
was worth whatever price I paid
to get here
staring somewhat resolutely
toward the next decade
of what is this life
these days
the heart sinks under memories
of other days
and I get to thinking
which is not necessarily a good thing
about those faces I see in the dark
try to remember names
personality quirks
the smell of a wet field
the sun breaking through the clouds
for instance
a dog gingerly picks his way along a beach
there are shells everywhere
and is it Gene or David
who stoops to pick one up
grinning
the dog looks up expecting a game
and that long haired woman with the green eyes
who will break my heart
in ways, at times
too numerous to mention
will make the world stop
and time
here in Istanbul
moves forward
just the way it’s supposed to
dragging my mind along
hesitantly
but gently
to where it needs to go
running with the bad boys
there are moments
when the past comes crashing
through the door
like some unruly relative
demanding attention
there are people I’d like to forget
but their ghosts refuse to listen
and they pop up in conversation
some trigger evoking them
collars turned up
cigarettes dangling from lips
hot stuff devils on biceps
eyes hooded, suspicious
they were not good boys
doing things not accepted
by codes other than their own
there is remorse in my heart
for deeds done, witnessed
scars that have faded in time
but still pencil thin lines remain
in places that substitute for a soul
some day atonement beyond what was given
will be expected
and all the good will be stacked up
against the bad
they understood this
did not care one way or the other
not believing in anything beyond the hell
they suffered through
and though there is no pity in my heart
there is understanding
and if it turns out
I stand beside them once again
I will not flinch
when the whip comes down
tough is what you can take
Kevin said once
not what you can give
a lesson I learned years ago
on asphalt pavement
on barroom floors
night: for Frank
he tries not to drink
but those shadows will haunt him
and the glass refills
ice bumping shoulders again
the night never seems to end
where I am: Michael’s lament
still very much alone
haunted by his memories
what it could have been
what it was, images of
what probably lies ahead
a poem after Tu Fu
a breeze off the ocean
sand between my toes
a shadow of a dog chases a wave
and I stand hands in pockets
the pier off to my left
the sound of the carousel
still in my ears
here in a city without angels
looking for a few people
I used to know
Leonard Durso 