An Embrace

i
Words, images that flip through
like a cartoon replayed in the '70s,
reminders of why it wasn't good
to go to war, and
why it was. A stage of mind
playing songs and the scream of sirens
clearing sidewalks, the hiss of rain
silencing boots in swamps.
Words and images that needed burying,
memories picked up and shaken
until all the loose bones fall
to the ground, exposed
for a son temporarily blinded
by his own China Beach.

ii
All knowledge passes
through fingertips and palms
to the father, to the son -
the good and the bad.
Curved fingers tell of love
given and received. One
has grown, is enlightened,
the other begins a journey
with an embrace to remember
late at night.

iii
Mother started a scrapbook
entered images, goodbye
embraces. One day
your children's children will hold
the book, flip through its pages
and wonder at the strangers within,
the slightly familiar faces
that are a strong facade
for the leaking souls beneath.

iv
More words are withheld than spoken.
The air carries them, a soft embrace
that couples with ours, remembers
the firm touch, the pride, the fright,
and the fight that will bring the strength
to stiffen two spines. Both
will grow, will learn how to stand tall,
learn how to lean, to bend
to the will of others, to bathe
in the beauty of birthright.

v
It's not forgotten after the leave-taking,
the embrace will be remembered long
into those dark nights when scurrying insects
remind you, you are not the only living creature
on the planet and as the black wraps us
we will not forget the comfort we stole
in each others' arms, that brief moment
when we put all stoicism aside
and shared heartbeats that know
the sound of fear, the footfall of silence.

©K. Sweet

(photograph received from Texas T, thank you for the inspiration. my prayers are with this young man, and others who work to make our world a better place.)

Distant Friends

A long way from home
they may be, but if we reached
out we could touch them,

curl our fingers around their hearts
and hold tight so they know
they are loved. We pray

they don't forget,
that they carry us with them
along each road, around

each boulder, that they realise
our thoughts and prayers
are with them, giving them support

and quiet strong love.

I take a tonic of darkness

once a week to dispel
the notion that days
are not always filled with sunshine
that sometimes happiness
does not pervade every square inch
of our world. It serves
the purpose. Places my feet
more firmly on the cobbled walk,
my head more squarely on my shoulders,
and gives me a reality I can rely on.

Drift

I know the bottles
and potions that stand at the edge
of worry, know the spills of flawed skin
the scratches of unseeing, and
unhearing, the pull of lost memory.
I know the dull corners
of green glass, the temporary drift
that sets reality apart from dreams.

I know all these and succumbed
to each, feel humbled
but not hollow. I live.

I watch the sun creep over the hills
spread its fingers across the valley -
dropped spores bleeding and belching light,
puddling and pushing the edge of night
back beyond sight. Gold spills, pooling
at the roots of ancient pines, needles
stacked on the ground, a blanket
staked out ready
to nurture dreams. A pause
in the morning.