| Gerard Rohlf |
USA
My Mother's Age I am today my mother's age When casually (for her) she told me How the nights and days would fall And fill the barrel of reflection Till the depth of sacrifice she made for me Would finally appear. Sadly, such a time that was - That had us both beyond the reach Of each the other's fits and turns of reason - That her wisdom left her words so tiny orphaned in the ear of youth, And me soon after orphaned too, And her too soon to take her wordless rest. The years have mounted lifting me To such a height of observation That it clarifies my vision, Cools and calms my disposition And prompts me to discover My mother's careless gift: How, heedless of the consequence, Regardless of the cost to her She wagered and she won for me What she lost so willingly herself - A chance to live. And I would gladly will it back - Half the life she gifted me (So few hairs split in eternity!) To meet in understanding, To heal in one embrace And begin.... Little Girl Days Little girls cannot but do it.
They can only break them --
daddy's hearts, I mean --
careless and off-handed
like teacups slipped from towels
while they chat,
Perhaps about those little boys
who want to master their affections
while their own emotions
confound all mastery,
But enough of the boyfriends --
their age will come.
The little girls,
while yet sequestered
in the daddys' hearts,
must be on about their breaking --
intent on solemn business,
occupied with whimsy.
But once
to have been splashed by their laughter,
bashfully christened,
or to have chanced upon their tears,
their smiles,
calmed their frets and fears,
by the nightlight:
the winter heart is just no match!
Or sometime
to be privy to such secrets
only innocence would hide them
like the giggles behind a small hand,
the other arm a playful necklace,
eyes that kiss a life all clean again:
a soul in hell is not beyond recall!
Even angry gifts are proffered
with a coup-d'amour
exquisite in its ardour of familiarity.
It widens as it wounds,
hollows out a grotto
to enshrine these treasures
in haply broken hearts --
against the hour of want
when this flame alone remains,
reminding the daddys
of little girl days.
---Indian Summer ---@
---An atmosphere away and closing,
---tracing a slow meander,
---swath? the liquid breathless hush, unhurried,
---settl' to earth at leisure...
---@
---Haunting chorus (hark above!) departing,
---waves of farewell on heartwings,
---a witness longing in the wake to follow,
---gazing in wistful envy...
---@
---Seconds ensue. Hours develop.
---Days drop to dust unobserved,
---Seasons concede. Years merge in memory.
---Still in their midst breathes a moment...
---@
---And that moment in this year of lifetimes
---opens on timeless wonder:
---distillation of the Summer's essence
---dressing the verge of Winter.
---@
---Breath-beat rhythm on a breeze autumnal,
---Cherokee chant in descant
---coax a leaf canoe into air eddies:
---an atmosphere...and closing....
---@
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