we stood on rocks
waves breaking
the sea in the air
you sang a song
just for me
to hear
waves breaking
words drifting out
to sea
memory
in dreams you are
there
in dreams
you are
as I remember
not to forget
remembering my mother on the anniversary of her death
there
in the ER
you shivering
that thin blanket
they could spare
covering you
no matter how much
my voice pleaded
5 hours passed
before your doctor came
and they wheeled you
behind closed doors
to die unseen
by me
your wedding ring
still clutched
in my hand
where you insisted
I take it
and tears
still cloud my eyes
remembering
that night between cars: for M
that night
we fell asleep
on the driveway
between my car
and yours
why didn’t I
pick you up
carry you inside
and love you
like I loved you
all the years
before
and all the years
after
that night
we fell asleep
between cars
a vow made
It’s funny how you don’t think of someone for years until an email from an old friend tells you they are gone, and then, just like that, her face and all the faces you both knew a thousand years ago come flooding in. All the late night conversations in kitchens over coffee, the parties that raged from one night to the next, the in-jokes, the mugging, the partners changing and the pet turtles in a bowl named for all of you, these things, that had lay buried for years in some recess of the mind, are once again vivid, and painful, and funny, and precious, and you can’t stop remembering and wishing you had added more pictures of her, of them, all these long years that are now irretrievable once again.
And so you resolve in your mind, your heart, that you will not let that happen with those still present in what remains of this short interval between light and dark. This, a vow made in the early hours as the sun sneaks its way into the world.
Frank in LA, a thousand years ago: talkin’ to the moon
there they are
the lemon slices
lined up
the salt shaker
Cuervo Gold
cracked open
and him
bound
and determined
to finish it
this sitting
the dog
curled up
watching
albums
against the wall
the turntable
in motion
and memory
of hard promises
made
in the night
later
watching the dog
claim possession
of the backyard
there
he stands
numb
to the world
numb
to her memory
saying
his mind
to the moon
this ring
this ring I wear
for fifty odd years
is all that’s left
of a man
apart from a tie pin
an ashtray
some pictures
to chronicle
he passed by
this way
and imprinted
my life
on time
restless mind
will not shut down
sleep elusive
so often these days
memories of moments
hours long gone
time slipping away
the weight of mortality
heavy to bear
now
not forever
just time
erasing tomorrow
when yesterday
is today
Steinway Street: portraits from the past: my life in retail: addendum: CODA: The Phone Calls
CODA: The Phone Calls
you try to tell them what you’re doing
only they’re not listening to what you’re saying
just listening for clues
as to why you’re not seeing them any longer
how to explain
this stalling of time
as you regroup your resources
after all you’ve lost
all you’ve walked away from
so you tell stories of shoplifters
amusing incidents of customer relations
of the holdup and the gun
waved in your face
and though you try to tell about the people
how could they understand anyway
insulated in their age
their positions in life
how could they understand how these kids
these young people
are changing you
not the mind because that was changing anyway
but the heart
that was the surprise
and the walls
where are the walls when you need them
but these ladies can’t hear
one understands the people not the job
one understands the job not the people
and the third understands nothing
the ears were deaf long before you started talking
you think Jane would understand
then think no
she would just listen
then walk away blank as before
women
you say to the shot glass
have never been my forte
and the sadness starts to settle in again
another shot
another wasted phone call
another staring at the printed page
life goes on
and you go with it
writing and reading and watching the light
on the Empire State Building
turn off
and thinking
I must hold out longer
she will come
she will come
so you close your eyes
take a drink
and listen to the clouds
fall asleep on the couch
and wake with the wind in your face
sometime near morning
Steinway Street: portraits from the past: my life in retail: addendum: The Glasses
The Glasses
are gone
you discover that in the morning
on your way to the subway
when the street looks blurry
and you remember a sign
First Avenue
and think
they’re somewhere on First Avenue
and feel slightly sicker than you felt in the shower
when you realized that not only were you still drunk
you had to be at work in 45 minutes
there is no sympathy from the girls
they giggle and shake their heads
and when you ask for something with dough to eat
Julie brings back MacDonald’s animal crackers
and then proceeds to eat half of them
Zaida looks pained
but eats a few too
and Luz could give a damn
you’re left with 4 cookies
that lousy coffee
and Stacey who comes in at 2 to gloat
you wonder if this is what poetic justice is
especially after that tirade in the bar
about the youth of today
you know your ex-wife would say
see why I married someone boring
and you think yeah
yeah I see
though not so well
without the glasses
and thank whoever’s listening there’re no trade-ins
and beg your favorite ladies
to please not take advantage of an aging fool
you also swear to give up drinking
but know your oaths lately are not to be trusted
and somehow someway
the day ends
you drag ass to the subway
and go home to bed
to sleep like the baby
you never were
Leonard Durso 