I have danced away from fire
when sought by grief,
sometimes too late
and, my hems aflame
chanced sudden leaps
into quiet pools
for water’s healing silk,
resurfacing to breathe again
and sing my words
until the sands run out
Category Archives: Himself
Walzerabend
Tonight there was, like then
a gilded room with
two grand staircases
this one on a tv screen
the swish of silk and gardenias
turning through candlelight
time waiting a beat
for their smiles to sail by
And you were gone
my dearest friend,
when I wanted us to
remind each other of
waltzing with our beaux
dark haired young blades
in decorations and tails
before you all began
to leave, one by one
and me alone to remember
for you
For Lisa Young Donely
Longing and the Ashokan Farewell
Wordless notes at parting
that have always brought tears
Gathered by a seer whose side job
is dowsing a Scottish lament
A violin strung mourning aid
and quiet picked guitar
prompted shards of loss
to call me kin
Even with young children then
and a loving life all the dogs
still alive, the Celt in me
keened for another’s loss
Yesterday it barred the way
asking to be heard again
And not wanting a scolding
from my highland ghosts
I stood aside and cried
for that younger life
Of a hand laid soft on
his shoulder as I passed by
Or his kiss on my wrist
Not willing to waste
incidental moments
Grateful for those times
and the conjures of old
hands on strings
As the world mourns
and I reach for
the comfort of my dogs
Audio: Read by the author.
Asleep
Remembrance waits in ambush
for that first sidelong glance at your face
Watching from the wall or pool of lamplight
at one end of our dark blue sofa
And you wake me in the empty black
even though I felt you as my mind dove deep to rest
Audio: Read by the author.
Just some things
Not as old as this house I am still old
wading through less certain days
and knees high quick march tears
from senses bombarded by everything
heart running to catch up
knowing not all tears are unhappy
joy and its lacewing followers
surround my memories of you
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Image Copyright © 2023 Kate Rantilla, All Rights Reserved.
Shoals
Nights alone riding the river of our past
taking songs to bed instead of you
resigned to half the life we had
I see you there waiting for
my dreams to float the river shoals
Less of forever to go around each bend
until we say hello again, and dance
outside the time of sleep
Recognition
even with no voice
even choked on tears
even with a stuttered soul
even though the wind now bars escape
even wearing sunless winter rime
even when my body cools its farewell
I will know you by your chosen stars
5.14
Opening the door I lean
to smell the subtle trail of spring
it is the time of violet night
of fading monochrome
when the other half of my heart
beats in echo time
slipping through the layers
of descending dark
to leave its kiss
Mountain top
Stars begin to drop into
the growing dark of a clear night sky
as I come down the mountain
to our woods, the path familiar
my feet sure in waning light
I went up alone craving you
the burn cleared granite
comfort warm at sunset, words
escaping into the rising drafts
as song, wait for me
I will be there given time
Tipping Point
Not the moment
you came down the stairs
that first night and
I recognized the future
Not the sight of you
after a year apart
walking out of the airport fog
with love on your lips
Not the joy of raising children
our hands clasped hard
to speak love in silence
our shield against their fledging
Not the words
that turned time finite
and wanting to leave I stayed
knowing you would have
The love that whispered
its long goodbye, until
I found you one cold morning
and knew your heart
had left without me
It was this
________________________________
For Mike
The right note
Tomorrow it might have been fifty-two
not just thirteen years since our thirty-ninth
Aligned with family and gratitude
the day always reflected joy,
the heat of our love folded into stuffing
The missing of him has gotten harder
but it seems he knows. I came upon
the sound of his small gasp
that wrapped me up each time
in beauty gauze, when finally ready
I presented myself to his gaze
before our evenings out.
Deliciousness itself, just knowing
that he would when I did, and
that he always meant it.
And I can smile now, the memory
a pitch perfect gift.
.
.
Audio: Read by the author.
How to darn a heart
If mending is the only route
then hold it safe, to
dance its beat
against your palm.
To brace the fraying edge,
thread light with memories
and run their warmth
the whole way round.
Bottom up or top down,
the strongest strands of love
comprise the weft, running stitch
to running stitch.
Then left to right or right to left,
hope forms the warp
needled over, under
in between.
It will look different darned,
the rend lightly scabbed,
dozing as it heals, until the next
onslaught of love.
Audio: Read by the author.
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NaPoWriMo Day 1 (my view of time being elastic), the prompt was to provide instructions on how to do something.
Life With Horace 