How could you know the me of 23
to 33? I felt those seasons flow,
but if I spoke you weren’t heeding me.
How could you know?
We seldom argue, but I felt the blow
I heard you blurt with anger recently.
My ears and eyes advised me to bestow
(at least attempt) an earnest summary.
I hope benign intentions overthrow
impressions held a quarter century.
How could you know?
I used to frolic, 60 years ago,
on territory rising by the sea.
My peers and I meandered high and low
among old bunkers, scrambling down the scree
to wave at waves and harmonize with blow
of surf besieging pebbles and debris.
I snapped this shot with wind upon my face,
amid glad memories about this place.
There may be different kinds of empathy,
I gather from a recent argument.
Perhaps a stranger’s read more readily
than those I hold to heart. There’s little risk
absorbing bits of personality
outside the radius of where I love.
Like playing cards without a pot, I’m free
to let the mute reception flow, unbent
by chance of forfeiture or penalty.
I logged a date on phone and paper too,
but didn’t look at home or screen device.
Distracted by an argument, I threw
attention off, and mostly wasn’t nice.
But luckily the other missed her cue,
petitioning to alter plans. The price
I might have owed for failing to recall
was never charged or registered at all.
Tomorrow’s a day to completely relax.
I came home on Monday, but then
the office and family traded attacks
on leisure. I’ll be here again
tomorrow, devoted to resting the backs
and bottoms of old feet.
Amen.
Neurodivergent
means not trying to be weird,
for that’s your normal.
I didn’t fall; I’m taking extra care.
That stairway, though, is narrow, carpeted.
My left foot slipped from tread to empty air;
my heel impacted vinyl. Nothing bled,
but now my sole objects, and I’m aware
of torquing knee. I’m sitting down instead
of walking. Not at risk for slip-and-fall,
the time to heal a heel can still appall.
On Father’s Day, the widow let him know
his dad’s memorial event would be
in two months’ time. This family will go
to Helena by rail and road, to see
some relatives and friends put on a show
of music set to mark in memory
the passages by someone. Of those left,
I wonder who’s undoubtedly bereft.
I heard about the lingering effect
from recent illness – belly cramps and worse.
An intermittent pain. I don’t detect
a cause and I’m not qualified to nurse,
but now I’m here I see, and I expect
it may be feeling fighting a submerse.
An anecdote I share gives her access –
and so some words dilute the source of stress.
Compendium? That wasn’t my intent
when I began to write four months ago.
If anything, an epic’s what I meant:
a spine of narrative from which would flow
vignettes and episodes I thought might grow
to 90,000 words or even more.
The path revealed. The process went from core
to fruiting branch, and nourished me. I see
I didn’t draft the shape I planned before.
Compendium instead’s inviting me.
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