Complementary

For Tony Russell

For those who stop themselves

I am afraid to share my voice but you love to sing.
From now, when I am beside you,
may your glad singing always override my inhibitions.
May you remember to look at me directly 
and sing loudly with no thought to my shyness.
May your voice, which soothes me in plain speech,
in singing wrap around me and pull out my smile, 
a hum, so maybe someday my song will rush out to meet yours.

You avoid moving to music but I love to dance.
From now, when you are beside me,
may my sway and stomp always override your embarrassment.
May I remember to look at you directly 
and dance freely with no thought to your shyness.
May my feet, which walk comfortably beside yours,
step joyfully around you and pull out your smile, 
a bounce, so maybe someday your dance will rush out to meet mine.

 © Laura Seale, 2017
 



 

Turning. Another Milestone.

Four AM, and after a few hours sleep, 
I’m awake—and resenting it, I’ll admit—
restless in body and spirit.
Every few minutes I flip over the pillow,
the fresh side a few degrees cooler.
Try my left side, then my right,
my stomach, back.  There is no magic posture.

And then I remember
and take comfort in the telephone call
this afternoon from my daughter.
Forty-six years old, and at last a mother, 
she rang me to say she’s sitting there watching
her three-and-a-half-weeks-old son
in his crib, trying to turn over.
Her voice fills with delight,
as she describes that amazing sight:
how, lying on his back,
he struggles and kicks one leg clear,
then balances on his side,
with each effort growing
minutely stronger.  
I can hear him behind her,
cooing and grunting,
as he arches and rocks,
determined to complete the maneuver.

(C) Tony Russell, A Gathering

The Last Titan

To Tony Russell

Making my own hell, 
awaking in the daylight 
from an eerie echo of night,
stirring nightmarish worries 
into a healthy porridge, 
involuntarily vomiting 
a debauched lifestyle, 
swearing to drink only water. 

But Happy-Ever-After life 
is about to end. 
A love affair with the erratic life, 
beautiful young bride,
home-sweet-home, 
seeds handed and sown, 
kids fledged and flown, 
the last breath,
the last seep of life 
like the last rite. 
The unfinished book 
like a heirloom passed on 
to a new Happy-Ever-After life.

(C) Helen Kanevsky, 2021