I thought of her today
but it had been so long.
I was shaken for
I could not recall her name,
and tenth grade friends
cannot do much except be friends.

I was so naive
and shocked by her use,
appalled by the boys
who took her for free.
She told me …
but tenth grade friends
cannot do much.

She was lost in the wall.
A person unseen.
Her eyes were flat
and her hair was black.
The toll paid
in tenth grade

It scared me to think
that I would forget…
I was sadly naive,
but now I grieve…
She died long ago-
the toll extracted,
the fine exacted,
so tired and sad.

Her name was Anne.

If only tenth grade friends
could do more.

I had been reading something by Anne Lamont and suddenly remembered this friend from 10th grade.  But I couldn’t remember her name.  I remembered the layout of her house, being in her room, her talking about sex, but I couldn’t remember her name.  I began to panic and dug out high school yearbooks.  I feel like I must not forget her name.  She deserves at least that much.  She committed suicide about four years after graduation. 

Wise  seed pods on their stock
dried and dead
released of
silky seeds:
milk weed in the wind

The seed pod’s
bold beauty:
hard,  exposed,
waiting to hold the snow
waiting to hold the cold

What seasons
   are watched by milkweed
dispersed in the wind,
and gathered by the soil
waiting for the vagrant king

Photo by Kelly Herbert

the shimmering aurora
a celestial veil
held between
this earth and heaven

its presence felt
when birth is near
and pushed aside
as death appears

in this transcendent dance
the celestial garment
just waiting
to be touched

I saw a picture of the Northern Lights in Finland that has intrigued me.  When I first saw it, I looked at it for a long time and I still have difficulty putting it down.  I thank my friend, Sue, for sharing the picture and for helping me finish this poem.

 In 2012 I lost the hearing in my left ear.  I woke up that morning in September and couldn’t hear from that side.  I’m a listener more than a talker, and it has been a continual adjustment and a real loss.  Vertigo accompanied the loss during the first couple of months as my brain made the adjustment to a different stability and  I would find myself holding on to furniture and walls as I moved from room to room. Voices and noises bounce around rooms, making crowded places disorienting. So now, when I listen, I must look at people and watch them speak, giving them my complete attention.

The world spins while I am deaf
Silenced by the inner ear,
To learn to listen with the heart.

Am I also blind?
Or is this focused learning
balanced by an unseen hand?

To discern an unseen mask
hidden in the spoken word,
unheard meaning deep inside the words.

Communion

I am very aware of his hand in mine as we walk along. I wonder if he is aware, as I am. I know that he won’t hold it much longer because he is four, and four turns into five. And when he is five he may take my hand, but it will be to tug me along or to pull me forward faster…helping me to get to his goal quicker. Yet, he is four and we walk the block hand in hand. And I savor each step before he releases my hand…savor it as the finest of wines and the best of bread.