funny
I can’t recall
her name
but I still see
her passing through
the yard
on her way
to your back door
we all wanted
you to join
just so when
we met
at your house
we could see
her walking surely
as if we weren’t
there
and in a way
we weren’t
just stone faced boys
watching a face
that launched ships
for all of us
memory
like good foreign ambassadors: for David
memories of bulls
roaming the streets
at night
in the village
of your father
appear tonight
in my dream of you
remembering we two fresh
from the only bar
open so late
mesmerized by the sight
and bowing humbly
before them
like good foreign ambassadors
from lands to the west
not nearly as ancient
as this one
where bulls owned the streets
and residents slept
behind unlocked doors
on memory
memory
that selective reshuffling
of facts
where the objective
become the subjective
and all the other
participants
become supporting players
on the stage
one creates
in one’s mind
xmas trees: for Steve
I still remember
chopping down that pine
in some farmer’s yard
after midnight
and dragging it back
to be our xmas tree
that year in Ohio
when we were young
and escapades like that
were our forte
we thought we would live
forever
and now cancer
limits your forever
to 6 months or so
and xmas trees
live in memory
until I join you
on timeless escapades
in a heaven
we both
do not believe in
those old dreams
those old dreams
linger in the night
and haunt the morning
how many shots
of Irish
can make them fade
a question
without an answer
words spoken
into the wind
an exile come home
I hesitate to write
these lines of your visits
waking me here
asleep in my chair
coffee cold
in my cup
and you trudging
those 5000 miles
over land an ocean
to sit once more
by my side
foretelling what awaits
in a future
void of time
where loneliness fades
an exile
come home
from a line by Wang An-shih: pity the poor moon
pity the poor moon
looking down
on sad sad me
a glass of Irish
in my hand
and this loss
forever stamped
on my face
spring night descends
spring here
so pleasant to sit
on a balcony
drink tea with friends
talk movies
as if life resides there
then home
fry mackerel
eat an apple a peach
drink lemon water
and wistfully stare
at that unopened bottle
of whiskey
calling my name
but who can I drink with
old friend
you are long gone
the cat too
the dog’s ashes
in an urn
no distractions left
to delay
the memories’ return
as spring night descends
remembering LA, 1978: for Maureen on her birthday
no matter what year
it’s still 1978
we’re sitting in Bruno’s
you’re drinking White Russians
I’m drinking bourbon
the sun is shining
outside the dark bar
and all the life
I need to see
is in your eyes
a fine memory: for Misook
without a partner
she dances
in the center
of the room
oblivious to the couples
with abandon
she twirls whirls
her dress floating
above her knees
and my eyes mist
remembering this
a fine memory
Leonard Durso 