Posted in Love

Sickness and Health


She always wondered what he thought,
he didn’t know of the 50 years of marriage
two children
several different places called home
a holiday cottage by the sea.
He had no knowledge of the clever fingers –
hands that could restore magic to broken machinery
or conjure improvements.
Of lost capacities
found only on videotape.
That the chapters of life were all complete
and now it was the appendix of a rest home –
full-time care
and one outing a week
a drive to the familiar part of the city
close to where he grew up.
The man in the shop didn’t see a grandmother, mother and wife
he saw only a woman in her 70’s buying two ice creams,
every week,
for several years.



Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.