A group of three juveniles has claimed
as their late afternoon meeting place,
the base of our oak tree.
Instead of completing family chores,
they chatter, climb the tree,
chase each other up and down the sidewalk.
Surely their elders sent them out to find and
bury nuts and seeds in safe places
to help the family prepare for winter’s cold,
this furry trio, like many young ones,
prefers play on this sunny fall day
instead of setting themselves to work.
As if winter will never come,
they flick tails, race some more,
chattering, laughing. They zip
up the oak trunk, leap over to the pine
then zoom down again to the walk.
Seeming not to see me until I call, “Hello!”
His stare challenges me to scold,
for playing when duties,
prep for winter remains undone.
But I cannot find it in my heart to
wag my finger and say, “tsk tsk.”
I understand their need to play.
After all, I also was once a child.
Waiting on the Other Side of the Metro Station Platform
“Metro Red Line Direction Silver Spring
has just left the station,”
the PA system blares as I arrive,
watching my train speed away.
Now the station’s silent.
A few other latecomers wait with me
but across the tracks a crowd
and YOU standing there as well,
waiting for the soon-to-arrive
Redline heading toward downtown.
Is that a wave?
Are you smiling an “I’m sorry”
for having stood me up
last week? I see you point
to your phone. Perhaps you had
a good reason to leave me waiting.
You want to talk when we’re
free from the signal crushing
metro station’s cement arches.
That smile’s signals
I should take your
call when it comes,
listen to what your excuse..
Your train arrives
whisking you away, in the
opposite direction from my trip.
As I watch your train,
disappear from the station,
I muse that you or I could have
gone up the stairs, crossed over,
then accompanied the other,
taking a detour from our
own plans in order to be together.
I admit to myself I’m more
committed to my own route
than to traveling with you.
For you it seems the same.
Will you call?
Will I answer if you do?
Found: One Small Coin
I cannot resist a penny on the ground
I will miss their copper insouciance
gleaming up at me on sunny days
from gray sidewalks or messy lawns.
Yesterday, however, the gleaming coin, I rescued
from a busy walkway near a Virginia grocery
a penny-sized coin from Sierra Leone looks
like it might be brass. Is it their “penny?”
The face on the coin, likely a hero or leader
of that small African country is unknown to me.
The obverse of the coin depicts a lion—
my favorite animal and I have begun to
make up stories about this coin, mountains,
Senegal, and travels, complete with lions,
(now extinct in Senegal).
Fingering this tiny bit of metal, I wonder
Was it someone’s lucky coin?
Was it a last link to a homeland?
Or is it a remainder coin from a trip,
passed along mistakenly, in change then
discarded as if it had no value.
I keep this coin on my desk, not as a lucky talisman,
or for any idea that a collector might value it,
but to remind myself that beyond the intrinsic beauty,
of its obverse lion, perspective is what
determines any item’s worth. Every so often
I pick it up and hold the lion to my ear to
listen to him roar. My own lion—
a priceless treasure.
Author, Story Performer
“Encouraging words through Pen and Performance”
No comments:
Post a Comment