In fifth grade, I earned first place
statewide for violin
against the girl I half-loved—
her fingers quicker,
her lineage more illustrious—
but that day,
mine did not tremble.
She chose a piece
with fireworks and pitfalls—
something by Tchaikovsky—
I chose Barcarolle—
plainspoken, sweet,
a boat gliding through moonlight.
I played it without flaw.
She slipped once,
only once.
We both knew I’d won
on a grace note—
not brilliance, nor fire—
just a clean line
held steady
while hers faltered.
Afterward,
she turned from me
like a violin
tucked into its case.
A week later,
dad took us to a restaurant
with cloth napkins and candles,
to celebrate my victory.
He smiled too much,
and talked too loud,
and the wineglass
trembled in his hand
just before he threw up
on the checkered tablecloth.
He tried to pay,
but the card was declined.
The cashier cut it in half.
He gave them his gold watch
as a promise.
I wished I could just
be invisible,
and we left without dessert.
Two years later,
I buried my medal in the woods
and never played violin again.
Prate is to
poetry
as death is to
life
Dilletante
graveyards
lie marking
the site
Where words
never weighted
whose wings
couldn’t fly
Unmarked
without headstones
condemned here
— to die
(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)
A fiercely tight as light garment
You won't spare cruel comment;
To put it on a self torment,
To take it off: you shall lament.
Garment's troubles wearers foment
And the needless pains augment,
Sooner on your waist liniment:
A sweet fashion–imposed ailment
"Just,you watch Laura's face,ferment
You'd think she's from dad's interment"
Laura's thigh had yelled in the skirt,
Her helpless pelvis rudely hurt
By a skirt like a reply curt
And like The Biggest Sin a dirt...
"I see Laura's Mum's hate cement
Tight miniskirt not a raiment".
He started A Sharp Enterprise
And it was A Thing of Surprise:
Big Shops you walked up to their shelves
To survey the items yourselves;
Many a sure lasting garment
That should permit no argument,
Which one could wear till Interment
And still not be starved compliment …
A lot of Touching Friendliness
Because of his stamped Godliness:
A Policy of Dialogue
And rejection of Monologue;
He’s floating an Enterprise,
Where one might negotiate price.
Bury what you can with words
—and remember the rest
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)
Interment
I sat by the window trying to catch sunbeam, when a man
in a black suit, that hung loose on his skinny frame, walked
past and I saw him disappear where the sandy road ends
and the olive grove begins. For reason unknown to me he
cried, tears rolled to the lane like a broken pearl necklace
I sat by the window trying to catch a sunbeam when he
returned pulling a an open coffin with a solid handle and four
suitcase wheels; in it a woman, in her best nightdress sat,
darning wooly socks. The man looked at me shrugged his
scraggy shoulders as to say: a wife´s work is never done.
I sat by the window, had caught a tiny sunbeam held in
my hand when the black suited returned pulling the same
coffin, its lid was held in place by ropes. I opened my
hand released the trapped sunbeam, the vista of grief
vanished and the day was bright and sunny.
Funeral.
A young man died in his sleep he was 49 years old, with my aged eyes
he was boy too young to die. I don’t know the medical reason for his
early demise, think it has to do with burst blood vessel in the brain.
I went to his funeral last Sunday it was a sunny noon and thought at
least heavens could have cried. I didn’t know him, but had hoped to
meet his sister, whom I adore, telling how sorry I was for her loss; but
the whole family was there in common grief, I wouldn’t intrude in their
unhappiness. I spoke to a friend of hers and asked her to extend my
concern, I wanted her to know that I had been there to show respect
and that I cared. But could not escape the gnaw of guilt in my heart,
hadn’t it been for her I might not have attended.