KNIGHT DREAMS

King Arthur was wiser,

More understanding

And exceedingly bright.

Lancelot was young and

Full of himself, but at least

He was a knight.

They came after dark

And woke me up,

No longer able to wait. 

“Come with us,” Arthur said,

“Join our ranks.

I promise you a noble fate.”

“Lead, I will follow you.”

I pledged all my blood,

muscle and bone.

What I wouldn’t give

To save someone’s life,

Maybe, even, my own.

THE FISHING LESSON

Watercolor by Pat Morgan

The first time my Dad took me fishing

We brought a bag of worms.

He selected a big, fat one for his hook,

A small one for mine.  I didn’t mind. 

He saw I was reluctant to pierce

My worm with the hook.  Without a word

He took them from me.  I didn’t mind.

I was anxious and pulled the line before he was done.  

The hook caught his finger,

Blood beaded up.  He didn’t yell at me.

After an hour he suggested we leave.  I didn’t mind.

He hadn’t caught any fish.

I only caught his finger.

He didn’t mind.

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I AM SEA GLASS

GENESIS OF DARKNESS

God did not create darkness;

It was there in the beginning.

His first creation was light

And he saw it was good.

Was darkness not good?

Did it have an ambiance

Of aloneness? Make God feel

Uncomfortable? Was it

So thick he could touch it?

Did he create the world

So there’d be something

Besides darkness?

Was man his ultimate vision,

Or simply a companion,

God’s shining sidekick,

Tonto?

WHO WILL REMEMBER DAVID

Watercolor by Pat Morgan

A widower with no children,

Meets and marries my mother

Becoming her constant, devoted companion.

We become his children and grandchildren.

His brother’s family resents

Being displaced, no longer

Beneficiaries of his warmth

And string-tied boxes of baked goods.

Who will remember David?

My children delight in his company,

The only grandfather they know.

They grow up and if they think of him,

They don’t say.

Confused, he calls me looking for my mother,

Unaware she’s home and he’s

Dying in a veteran’s hospital.

He is cremated, ashes scattered.

Who will remember David?

My mother continues living

In the condominium they shared,

When she dies at ninety

We bury her next to my father.

But who will remember David?