In my old neighbourhood
I stop at a light-controlled intersection
that didn’t used to be,
On the corner
I see a glimmer of a younger me
in my safety patrol vest,
the stop sign at my back,
waiting for the whistle to spring to action
decades ago.
poem- guessing May 2, 2016
I guess
I should remember
the curve of your cheek
the reach of your arms
the pitch of your voice.
I remember
the imprint of your fingers
against my thigh, rising scarlet.
I remember
the strident screech
that foretold your speeches
about the unfairness of life.
I remember
the flash of your eyes
the thud of the door
being poor.
I guess
I remember
you.
.
.
(FYI- written in persona)
poem- rockery January 29, 2016
We played in the rockery
and you always skinned your knees
because adventure was so much better than caution,
and my mother wasn’t likely to smack you
for disturbing the hen and chicks blooming
in the crevices.
poem-promise September 29, 2015
Those childish promises
made with fervent belief
prove the power of intention:
Fealty sworn with hooked pinkies
in confident conviction.
poem- first September 23, 2015
Happy birthday, you said
bending over to kiss my cheek.
And with my fluttering heart and flaming blush
I decided that was my first kiss,
that all the others did not count.
Because I wanted my first kiss to come from you,
my heart believed it had.
poem-echoes August 16, 2015
I walk on roads I knew.
Familiar houses I name as I pass:
Janet’s house,
Marcie’s house,
Sandy’s house,
Cathy’s house,
Ayesha’s house,
Annette’s house.
I catch glimpses of them playing in their front yards
or waving from their windows,
Though they have not been children for decades.
Their spectral selves run along the sidewalks
and fill the twilight with lost laughter.
.
.
.
It’s eerie visiting in my old neighbourhood. I can actually see my childhood friends out of the corners of my eyes, but when I look, they’ve vanished. Have you had this experience?
poem- old street June 18, 2014
The old man
who lived in
the corner house
with the red front stairs
always had
time to
listen.
the truth about motherhood April 14, 2012
At the moment, I’m thinking about The Cat Years…
.
Giving birth
to all the dreams
of a future,
a blessing
longed for,
imagined
named
years—
decades—
before.
Happiness
held tightly
and blinking brown eyes
sleepily from a blanket
tightly wrapped into
a cocoon of possibility.
.
Walking away,
snarling and critical,
bored and irritated,
cynical.
Mocking talents,
unappreciative of
sacrifices made,
opportunities given.
.
Kindnesses
rebuffed,
communication
ignored,
considerations
declined.
.
Mocking the dreams
and the sweet scent of
hope that lingered
in the folds of
new skin
wrapped tightly
with what we thought
was happiness.
.
Possibility is a
far more pleasant
contemplation
than reality.
Shawn L. Bird 