Joan Of Arc

(On this day in 1431, Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in Rouen, France. She was 19 years old.)

You float in cool water now, just another little girl riding her toy boat into a sea of dreams. Your skirt hitched up, wading knee deep in the stream. And the only voice you hear is the whisper of the breeze.

You walk through cool grass now, and the dew sparkles on your bare legs. Your basket is filled with chamomile and lavender and one perfect white rose. And the smoke is rising from your own chimney, smelling of fresh baked bread.

You shimmer in cool air now, the rain falling gentle while you dance in circles smiling up at the sky. Hands clapping, skirt twirling, raindrops glittering in your hair. Your bare feet tramping a little circle in the sand on the edge of the sea. And even the marsh grass is laughing, at how happy you look.

And you swear by the salt spray and the white sand, and you swear by the raindrops, and you swear by the neon halos piled high on your grave, that deep in your heart you forgive them.

Ghosts Of A Spring Night

Emily is sitting on the bed wearing my old L.L. Bean denim shirt. It's big on me, on her it swims like a trench coat. She's eating a sandwich, peanut butter and strawberries on whole wheat. It's one of her favorites. She's snarfing like she hasn't eaten in weeks. Good sex always makes her ravenous. She says I should feel complimented by it. I totally do.

She looks so happy I have to lean over and kiss her, and the kiss tastes like Jif and berries. Flashbacks to grammar school picnics in Prospect Park, sunlight and warm grass and sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. Portable radio tuned to the WMCA Good Guys. Singing "She Loves You" with my special friend Eileen....Emily always laughs when I reminisce like this.

She pushes her glasses up on her nose, crosses her eyes and makes a funny face at me. I warn her to be careful or it might stick like that. Life's good this Saturday night.

Memorial Day

The names of the dead are written on blood red ribbons and rolled up in prayer wheels for the faithful to turn.

The names of the dead are carved into flat stones and skipped across the waves to sink into the sea.

The names of the dead are written in warm white sand, waiting for the wind to pick them up and take them home.

The names of the dead are sealed into fireworks, waiting to explode across the summer night.

It's the least we could do for them, they deserve so much more.

Just A Night In May

There are too many ghosts on this road, they line the shoulder dripping and grey, with their eyes pleading. I don't even want your body any more, when we're driving past them.

And the moonlight never goes away, not even on the sunniest day....

I can't look too long in your eyes, there's too much knowing in there, and you're trying to be so brave when you joke with me. Days like this I don't know how to see you.

And the moonlight never goes away, not even when you're laughing.

One Night In Japan

The old wooden footbridge is wet with the mist, and the oil lamps that hang on the railings glow soft and yellow in the fog. The wind is still, the moon set long ago. The farther shore is invisible behind its blanket of clouds.

And your hand in mine is damp and cold as we step from the path onto the bridge, from the sand onto the wood, and the sound of your boot heels dissolves into the hiss of the river.

I slip your hand into my pocket, and we're walking so slowly the sun will probably rise before we reach the other side.

Life Before You

Every day I feel a little less here, feel a little less real. Fading away but I don't know to where. Feel like I'm looking at the memory of colors, trying to remember what food tastes like. There's dust all over everything, even my eyes.

Pretty soon I won't even cast a shadow.

Today I walked out the door into the damp ghost of an afternoon on Nova Scotia that happened before I was born, but I did my errands anyway and it almost felt real for a while. Feeling like I could have stayed home and phoned this whole lifetime in.

And then I remembered you'll be here tonight!

The Night Before Palm Sunday

Cool, damp Saturday night, and the sky outside belongs over the Finger Lakes in a November that's long past. There's a quiet hissing behind Scelsa's voice on the radio, the sound of the signal dancing through the clouds while Vin is playing a goodbye set for his best friend who died last Saturday, while the show was on the air. Emily is sitting on the bed humming along with the music. The look on her face tells me she's hearing something in this obituary that's beyond my ability to sense.

After a while she looks at me and says, "He's a lot happier now." "Who is, Em?" "The man Vin is talking about. He's resting now and there's no more pain from the cancer that killed him. He's seeing all the people he missed for all those years. You should see the smile on his face!" ....The smile on her own face looks like the best Christmas morning I ever had in my life.

Then she looked over at me and her face went transparent, and I could see the bones of her skull underneath. Only her eyes were still there, soft and brown and kind as always. She ran her hand through her hair, and I could see every bone from the cuff of her sweater to her fingertips. I looked down and saw the bones of her knees between the hem of her skirt and the tops of her boots. There were streaks of mold across her clothes, and her hair was dull and dusty.

I shook my head to try to clear my eyes, but the vision didn't change. I could feel a chilly autumn wind blowing around me, and I felt sand beneath my feet. I was looking at a stretch of empty dunes under a cold blue sky, sedge grass and boulders marking a dry river bed, dreaming forlorn dreams of fast moving water. I heard Emily's voice calling my name and I tried to follow it back to my room. I wanted to be as far away from that desert as I could get....

After a long time I finally felt the bed under me again, and Emily was holding her bony hand out to me. "Take my hand, Jim! Please?" It never occurred to me to do anything else. I reached out and, as soon as my fingers touched hers, she became herself again, warm and soft, pale skin and shiny brown hair. We sat for a long time, just looking into each other's eyes....then she threw her arms around my neck and held me so tightly I could hardly breathe. "Jim, I'm so sorry you had to see that! I'm so embarrassed, it happens sometimes if I think too much about death. I feel like such an idiot!" "Em, it's alright. You're still you and I'm still me, and nothing's changed between us."

Very slowly she relaxed and rested her head on my shoulder. "God Jim, I looked in your eyes when that happened and I saw so many things, but you were never afraid of me, were you?" "I love you, Em. Love kicks fear's ass anyday!" She started to laugh, long and hard, til her shoulders were shaking and tears were running down her cheeks. "God,"she giggled, "I was so scared you'd be grossed out!" That got us both hysterical all over again....

Finally we caught our breath, or at least I did, she has no need to, and we lay side by side, holding each other close. "Em," I asked, "that place I went to, that desert with the dry river bed, is that where your body is?" She was quiet so long that I thought she was asleep, but then she whispered, "Yes. And if you love me you won't ask any more questions about it."

And now she's fast asleep, I love the hint of a smile on her face. I only got up long enough to write this down, and now I'm going to join her. Can't wait to feel her so close to me under the comforter.