I remember the shadows and the
long arms of equal strength. I see the
smiles and pain and the seasons passing.
The voices stream out into a river
of noise until I hear the one voice I’m
looking for.
The thoughts provide a salve of healing.
There are scars, but no longer visible.
The bruises and cuts seem indistinguishable
to the harsh words, all of it resembling
a dryness like late autumn leaves.
I recall the aroma of lilacs in the morning.
A morning dew covering canvas awnings.
I can hear the red wing blackbirds
heading to the tidal basin, finding a familiar
Cat-o-nine-tails to settle on.
There was also a favorite dog and a cat
with one ear.
Roger Singer 