Obituary

He died in the arms of Love. It was a place where he'd never lived, but he was allowed to die there. They built him a marble tomb, but it was cold so his soul spent all its time down by the river, watching the sun dancing on the waves and wondering how he'd got it all so wrong. Just another ghost haunting Love, looking sad eyed through her window when her candles were lit. Did she ever see his face, on the other side of the moonlit glass? Not very likely.

He died of the quiet, and because things went on just the way they were til it seemed like forever would never get here. He died from eating dinner alone in the dark, in front of the tv. He died from his own lonely touch, hoping for some kind of communion. He died because February wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he tried.

And now he sits by the river with the other ghosts, hoping one of them will look back when he looks her way. At least it's something to hope for.

Isis On The Road To Phoenix

So still
So small
So quiet
So easy to miss out there
on the glittering highway
where the sun devils play
in the desert wind.

Nobody even remembers
your brown and happy eyes.

They'll fall apart without you,
but don't let that be your problem.
You're so young, that's why they want you
to take it on your shoulders.

They'll tell you he's your brother,
so it's your obligation,
but your brother, he's in heaven,
he's beyond all help or hurting.

They want to put you in a temple
where the sun can't kiss your cheek.
So walk away from all their grasping,
their hands are slick and sweaty,
there's no loving in their touch.

Stay still
Stay small
Stay quiet
They'll never see you walking,
boot heels tapping softly
on the highway's empty skin.

Just A Rainy Thought

November's heart is full of dead leaves and wood smoke, her eyes are midnight blue and they sparkle with early rising stars. Her cape is the color of moss and fog and she ties it up close to her chin. She carries a lantern in one hand, in the other is a walking staff carved with runes and set with colored stones. She's older than the oceans but she's younger than tomorrow morning. If you saw her you'd say she couldn't be a minute older than sixteen.

If she asks you to dance with her, take her hand and waltz her to the edge of the cliff where the rain water runs down to the sea. Spin her and twirl her while the music pounds in your ears, and never look down, the drop is just too much to think about.

The Skunk

The Skunk showed up in a back yard around the corner a few weeks ago. He was lonely and hungry and he wasn't even The Skunk yet. He didn't even have a name. Nobody wanted him, but he wanted to make friends with everyone he met. When the world gave him indifference he answered with enthusiasm and friendliness and a manic desire to play fetch.

The Skunk isn't a real skunk. He's a black and white tuxedo cat, somewhere around a year old. From parts unknown he arrived at the back door of a kind woman who gave him food and became his first friend. He would have loved to stay there, but her cats wanted no part of a nameless street kid with big eyes and a bigger appetite. She fed him every day in her yard, and she took his picture and made found cat posters and put them up around the neighborhood, but no one responded. Wherever he'd been before, they weren't looking for him.

That's when Jane came into his life. She saw the posters and called the woman who was feeding him to offer her help in finding a home. Of course she fell in love with him on sight, that's the way Jane is. We've been rescuing animals together for more years than either of us cares to contemplate. Jane is the one who found a dirty, half dead sheperd mix in the street outside the subway station and took the time to rescue him while everyone else walked past on their way to the train. He became my dog Casey and was with me for twelve years, til he passed away earlier this year. The Skunk didn't know it, but his luck had just changed for the better. Jane was on his side.

When she called to tell me about him I had all kinds of reservations. After several months, I'd gotten used to the silence and stillness in here, used to coming home to an empty house. But when Jane has an idea she's difficult to resist. It's a large part of the reason I love her so much. Then we heard the weather report for the coming weekend, a brush with a hurricane bringing damaging winds and flooding rains. We couldn't leave him out in that. So on thursday afternoon we packed him in a carrier and took him to Dr. Neuman. I agreed to foster him for at least a week after he came home from the doctor while we looked for a home for him.

When Jane brought him to my place on friday afternoon his whole world had been turned upside down for the last twenty four hours. From a placid backyard existence he'd been boarded overnight in a hospital cage, had surgery in the morning, been poked and prodded by strangers, but still, when he stepped out of the carrier onto my bed the first thing he did was rub his face against my hand to say hello.

I knew by the third day that he wasn't going anywhere. He'd found his home, and it's a better place for his being here. Every day he lets me know how grateful he is, especially for all the food. He's developed a great liking for veggie cheeseburgers,
cold sesame noodles and mango ice cream, as well as an obsession with football games on tv. And today I bought him his own cat bed. Meeting Jane was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Autumn

All the horses march in slow circles around the meadow, kicking up the ground fog, under the autumn stars. Steam rising from the black earth, steam rising from their flanks, from their snorting breath when they paw at the moon. Keeping time with their hoof beats to the slow plaintive call of the frogs in the lake, keeping time to the beat of a young girl's just - broken heart.

They dance in slow circles across the wet grass, and their hoof prints are runes in a soft green prayer book. They dance for the equinox. They dance to remember. They dance to ease a young girl's pain. Tonight she'll dream all her hurt and sadness are trampled in the earth. Tonight she'll dream of wild horses, dancing across the sky.

Summer's Almost Gone

Emily is sitting on the corner of my desk with a bowl of mango ice cream in her lap. She takes a spoonful and her eyes light up while a big silly grin spreads across her face, "God Jim, this is better than sex!"

"Gee, Em, thanks a lot....what does that say about me?"

"Silly, you know what I mean!" She actually rubs her tummy and does a little sitting down dance, swinging the bowl like a chilly censer.

I'm sitting here at the computer, looking up at her. She sits on the corner with one leg crossed primly over the other. I put my hand on her knee, bare between the hem of her denim skirt and the top of her cowgirl boots, and I tap in time to the music Scelsa is playing on the radio. She sings along with Lou Reed's "Walk On The Wild Side" then starts to rock out in a totally over the top version of Neil Diamond's "Desiree" that has us both falling off the furniture laughing.

When we finally catch our breath she downs the rest of her ice cream and looks ruefully into the bottom of the empty bowl. "More later?"

"If you're a good girl."

She flashes me a wicked grin. "Then definitely more later! Yay!"

"For you, anytime, darlin."

She puts the bowl down on the desk, sits on my knee and puts her arm around my shoulder. "You look a little wistful, Jim. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. It's just the coming changing of the seasons. Tonight I noticed it was dark before Keillor's show was over. The days are getting shorter already. Seems like summer barely got here and it's leaving already."

"I know, Jim. But it's really alright. The things that matter don't ever change. And remember what I told you before, you will always have a choice, in everything. Even about you and me...."

I can't help but laugh at that. "Em, you know that choice was made the day we met!"

"I know," she says, "but I still love to hear you say it." She kisses me lightly, her lips taste of mangos and autumn. "That takes care of the important thing, Jim. Everything else will take care of itself." The silly smile comes back to her face, "Now, the really important thing....more ice cream please?"

August

We went to July's funeral and you danced in the smoke from the pyre, your hands weaving arabesques, your feet tracing the summer tide in the ashes and sand. And the heat lightning jumps from star to star, and the fireflies drift from tree to tree. And the river hisses on the sand, and your eyes reflect the summer moon.

And we twirled a dark waltz along the shore, my arm around your waist, feeling the black crepe and the sweat, and the eagerness of your breathing. And I can't wait to kiss you, but I'm making the moment last....