I always went there to find calm.
comparison – loss, their’s so much greater.
even the necessary lawnmower straitened and subdued,
delicately respectful of the headstones.
Bookends, brackets, margins –
what lies between?
It was the craziest six months of my life
danger, drugs, vice, stupidity; all and more.
Retrospection shakes its head
age wonders how youth emerged alive.
Calm: trees, filtered sunshine, flowers, offerings. Quiet.
Comparison: grief and loss – far greater.
Correlation : her entire life was six months. The same six months.
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.
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