My Rebeccas

In my youth there was Rebecca standing on a hill of snow.

Other boys fought for attention but her smile was just for me.

The frozen city was our playground.

Our exploits were the stuff of legend,

Until our friendship faded into time.

In my teens there was Rebecca reading poetry in class.

She was kind to me when others found it amusing to be cruel.

We would talk until the break of dawn

And exchange desires and secrets,

Until our romance faded into time.

Away at school there was Rebecca studying rare works of art.

Wild, intense, and passionate and interested in me.

Our days were filled with ecstasy.

At night we dreamt about the future,

Until our liaison faded into time.

In my middle years there was Rebecca working in a crowded office.

Her energy and beauty sliced through monotony with ease.

We were partners, friends, and lovers

Fusing intimacy and insight,

Until our marriage faded into time.

In the end there was Rebecca living with me in a home.

All her trials and tribulations made her as strong as she was wise.

We laughed and cried through all our stories

And cherished moments spent together,

Until we both faded into time.

© Ben Siegan, 2019

Optomotor

I’m watching a creature who watches a screen

a watchman who watches and knows what he’ll mean

when they ask and he tells, and he tells and they ask

about purpose that’s pickled in each daily task

And the music of quicksand like metal will melt

when the crucibles bellow the furies they felt 

They say it’s for knowledge, but knowing is cheap

I can know the whole world if I get enough sleep

A moron can learn all past works of the dead

and still in the present have shit in his head

To understand anything is to understand less

so damn all deductions and let’s make a guess

or profess our stupidity, straight and sincere

find clarity clearly in all that’s unclear

So, do I believe this? Eh, I don’t know

It could be that today is especially slow

I oft throw off caution and except what I mean

when I’m watching a creature who’s watching a screen

© James Cole, 2019

The Gloves

I am a frustrated compulsive shopper.

Without regard for the announced Christmas sale,

I buy a pile of colorful gloves to soothe myself.

Gray woolen gloves,

blue dress gloves,

green leather gloves,

red rubber gloves,

clear surgical gloves,

white wedding gloves,

and a couple of mittens.

I lost my gray gloves in my American history class, 

when I grasped that Cherokee has not always been a brand name,

but women and children sent away in winter with their bare hands.

I lost my blue dress gloves when my boyfriend married my best friend.

They honeymooned in Paris and adopted an abandoned child.

I lost my green leather gloves in a hospice

where my dying father told me that he didn’t love me.

I lost my red rubber gloves in my new boyfriend’s kitchen

when it became clear that he treasured me as a cook.

I lost my clear surgical gloves in the operating room 

when I decided to stop hurting dogs.

I kept my white wedding gloves 

because my granddaughter loves to play with them,

and I gave her the mittens to keep her hands warm

because this is the only thing 

I can do to make her happy on this cold day.

© Helen Kanevsky, 2018

ANTORINI luxury gloves,
from Wikimedia Commons