Posted in Love

Seeing Through

Memory could never recover the jolt
the jolt that led the quiet woman to talk
talk, about the fabled mountaineer
climbing’s hottest young progeny, until decd appended his photo
put the legend in legendary
you knew …..? Well, sort of
what was he like? A pause.

It was a wilderness camp,
she said,
more Outward Bound than outdoor education
he an instructor,
un-gentle with the unconfident or clumsy
passing impatient ….  braking just short of bad tempered
it wasn’t his fault, he was talented, a high achiever
ill- suited as scoutmaster
had been recruited to add prestige
to market
to bring in business – a commercial decision,
she was sure he was a nice man.



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.