REPAIRS

                                    The sign over his garage door proclaims

BEACH CHAIRS CAREFULLY REPAIRED.

Each morning he opens the garage door and

Sits in front on a sturdy one waiting for customers.

A grey neighbor lady yearning company

Brings him an old chair in terrible shape,

Says, “You can have it for parts, no charge.

Tell me, what are you doing for dinner?”

Two young boys who have to live with their grandmother

Show him a rusty red chair they found on the curb.

He offers them each a quarter, but they want a dollar.

He compromises. He’ll give them a dollar next time.

It’s been ten years since his trusted partner,

The wife he thought he could never win, died.

For three months he cried by day and sobbed by night   

Until he could no longer take the sulfuric pain.

He’d have to decide, either become a drunk,

He could afford vodka, enough for that,

Or find a way of staying sober, keeping busy,

Useful, and not embarrassing himself.

So he put up his sign and now sits and waits

For people to come to him who need repair,

But, he collects parts mostly and smiles, almost

Contently, in front of his open garage door.

MY MOTHER’S SMILE

I spent a lifetime

Looking for my mother’s smile.

I picture a toddler crawling into a room,

His mother sees him and

Her eyes light up, a smile erupts.

It’s spontaneous, but

I’m not him and that’s

Not my mother.

Mine held me lightly on her lap

So I wouldn’t crush her ruffled dress.

Other times, my dirty hands and face

Were kept at a distance,

So was the rest of me.

It’s hard to love yourself

When the part of you called mother

Loves best from behind a wall.                          

Her outstretched arms

May not have been

Long enough

To cross the open space

Between us,

But her smile could have

Had she been willing.                       

Had she been able.

Now she’s gone and

The distance between us

Is even greater, so

I picture in my mind

Her smiling at me

With an approving nod.

I know I’m lying to myself,

But it’s a good lie.

SNAIL

                                                           There are times I

Feel like a snail.

If you look

For me and fail,

It’s likely because

My tiny nose

Only comes up to

The top of your toes.

Although we can’t

Walk together

We could talk together

Sharing a story

Or two about how

You once felt blue,

How you wept and wept

Over secrets poorly kept.

You should know this,

I have a hard shell,

I know not to gossip,

I simply won’t tell.

I come from a family of

Honorable snails

Who won’t ever share,

Other people’s tales.

more poetry at

SEA GLASS PEOPLE