Thursday, November 23, 2017

Windows, Panes, and Portals

Windows, Panes, and Portals

Backdrops for occasions,            
Momentous and less-so, 
Life-affirmations and                    
Daily tedia complicated:              
Changing seasons:             

Wet Springs to high springs:                  
Seeds, births to fall leavings,      
Suns, clouds and moons’ phases:                     
Risings, settings, obscuring passings.  
Buds and blossoms.                      

These panes and portals:
New pains and new blessings,   
Befores before afters,                  
Glare-blinding, wind-cracked and clean-streaking,
Glass for reasons.

Out which we’d glance                
At Christmastime,              
Warmed at the hearth,                
Or Easter or just ‘cause,              
Into which we’d peer                   
On each arrival                                           
To see the season’s scents         
Before they were caught
On seasons’ breezes                     
From the kitchen’s heart.           

Out which we’d glance                
At blooming mounds,                   
Flowers planted                             
On our last visits;               
While washing dishes                   
After splendid feasts,                   
Or hand-snapping fresh beans, 
Or licking beaters                          
From cookie and cake,                             
Batters sweetly mixed.    

Out which we’d glance      
While local news               
Or Fins football--               
Or college football—                    
Chattered amongst cheers.        
We’d playfully dote                                  
With Grampa soft-snoring,                     
Full-belly hard-earned,                             
After long-days’ works,                
And a life well-worn.         

Out which he’d glance,                
To watch her tend            
Flower beds, and               
Us climb trees, or pick                 
Blackberries, or build                   
Palm-forts, while he rolled         
Tobacco in papers             
And listened to “The                    
Rest of the Story,”            
While box fans rattled.    

Out which she’d glance,              
To watch him chop                       
Hardwood and build                     
Fences and feeders                       
For her flowers and                      
Critters and robins;                       
Stole away for catnaps,               
Or to fix her hair,               
Or her gloss so she                       
Was always perfect.              

Glass, framed and righted:         
Letting light in and out.               
Muffling playful shouts:              
For spectacles, for dew-to-misting,
For being seen.                  

Perfect for greetings,                   
As if on movie screens.                
Perfect for long good-byes,                    
Sorrowful and longing and final
Soundless endings.

Read more of my poetry, essays, and stories at

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