The wood you stand on, washed up flotsam on the stones,
once held my father’s weight above the waves;
the rusted bolt you kick with a thoughtful frown
kept closed the press which held his family maps.
It will be a found feature in your off-white apartment,
a reminder of the sea to bring the old outdoors inside.
Treat it kindly, with due respect.
It held safe their lives until that day
and now outlives them.
He had always seemed too good to be true, my old friend. But then we fell out, over a woman perhaps, or differing interpretations of friendship, or perhaps through growing older. So I had not seen him for ten, maybe fifteen years, when he walked right by me. I only understood it was him when we had passed; a flicker at the corner of his eye caught mine. Perhaps – again, I’m unsure – the tremor was a sign that he had seen me.
I walked on a few steps; I slowed; I stopped. Would I turn and see him close behind me, smiling or frowning or looking puzzled, or would he have disappeared amongst the crowds? Or would I turn at all? Perhaps it was not him I could convince myself. I turned. He stood there, older, softer, his eyes the same.
So we went for a coffee and a promise to catch up and I’m sorry, no I am, and him and then me and then him and then we both looked at the time again and I thought of having to run to catch up and the years we had spent without talking.
And there was an uncomfortable shuffle and a handshake became an embrace and our gripped hands were caught tight like a fist between our chests, knuckles grinding ribs, and he looked at me and I looked back and I saw that he knew and I tried to show that I did too and then we separated and turned away and everything that had to happen happened.
She was pushing the heavy glass door. It was difficult. I wanted to leave the shop as well so I leaned past her and pushed the door too. For me it was light. She held on to the door and it took her. She almost stumbled. She was out of the shop. So was I. She turned and looked at me and smiled.
“You nearly swept me off my feet,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.”I didn’t mean to.”
She smiled a different smile now and walked away.
Later in the morning I saw her sitting on the river bank near where the kingfishers play. I waved but she did not wave back. Perhaps she did not see me.
May dreams’ slow flight light the golden way to morning
The darkness hides the miles; they’re gone.
A whispered word
and a wish tied together fly –
tomorrow spring birds will sing.
Until today, the winter has been a wet black dog. Now the dog is growing claws and shaking loose its skin. The white lion is soon to return.
Soon the sleeping elephant will shake the snow from its head
Soon the sun breaks through
Soon Spring
Soon
Snow
The curve of the letters on the card, the curve of her hand holding the pen. He touched the letters again, traced their shape, touching across the distance.
She said if she were a food, she would be a red raw steak.
She said if she were a drink, she would be red wine so we could age together.
I said I was a vegetarian teetotaller.
Then, just quickly enough, I said I was only joking.
I sniffed. Strange. I sniffed again. Hmm. Behind me, the gorilla sniffed louder.
simonsalento 