You Know His Name (3)

He was charming
He moved with an easy
grace and had
the most refined manners

He sounded so
intelligent

Once on the job
he made idiotic
mistake after mistake

His supposed
sophistication was
apparently little more
than a thin veneer

Composed primarily of
his British accent

Velocity

When you are
Four years old
The time between
Thanksgiving and
Christmas seems
Like an eternity

That makes sense
Of course because
It comprises two
Percent or so of
Your entire life
And perhaps a larger
Portion of the time
You believed
Christmas mattered

A couple of generations
Later there is no time
Between those two
Events and the
Velocity of the
Calendar inhibits
Accomplishing all of
The necessary tasks

In later adulthood
We want the calendar
To slow down

We can wait for
Christmas

Fish

It was that
Late summer
Early fall
Indian summer

Before hunting
Season when the
Light is clean and
The colors flaxen

I headed out
After school in
My Dad’s pick-up
To fish in the thin
Hours before dark

Out at my grandparents
Ranch in the creek
Through the big woods
And in the small irrigation
Ditches that bisected
The grain and alfalfa
Fields off the creek

Into the neighbor
Place there was a
Small stream
Hidden in the grasses

Fish like to hide
And I let my
Line drift into
The darkness with
A fresh worm on
The Eagle Claw No. 10

I had just let
The line slide in
When a big trout hit

I set the hook
And played it
Until I could
Bring it in.

My Dad called
His friend over
To see the fish
When I got home

It was a fat
18 inch Rainbow
That curled round
The creel.

Mud Puddle

What took you
Long, she asked,
To come home
From school

It was the
Mud puddle
My brother said
He had to walk
Around a
Mud puddle

He got in trouble
Because he forgot
To say the mud puddle
Was large and fascinating

He forgot to say
He stopped to throw rocks
In it, steer small
Wooden ships across it
And wage imaginary wars

The mud puddle was
Intriguing and complex
And time ran away
From him

He got in trouble
Because he didn’t
Explain the nuance.

Life is a lot
Like a mud puddle.

Waves

Time passes
After the death
Numbness abates
Exhaustion is replaced with
A bounce in your step

Life, once exquisite
And vivid and as rich
As life can be

Drifts once again
Toward the banal

Then a wave hits
An emotional tsunami
Out of nowhere
A wave

A wave of recollection
And grief and pain and loss
Powerful for just a moment
Then passing away

I miss you Dad.

Snow Angel

One of my early
Memories of snow
Was making snow angels
And playing fox and hen
In the snow with my Dad
Along side the highway on the
Way to Snoqualmie Pass

Yesterday I visited his
Grave and uncovered the
Snow from the wreath my
Mom had my brother lay
At the place of the headstone

I laid the wreath against
The plastic yellow sunflowers
I purchased at Albertson’s
Grocery store

And then, I lay on the
Ground above his grave
And made a snow angel

Skunk Cabbage

I was five or six
The small creek
Behind the school
Held a patch of
Skunk cabbage

I would pick some
And chase the girls
Especially the girl
I liked best that day

The girls squealed
And ran away

Somehow I knew
They secretly liked
The attention

Although many years
Have passed and
I haven’t seen or held
Any since my youth

I still chase girls with
Skunk cabbage