Old Kitchen Smells
Between invisible parallels:
flesh and shadows
Behind despair:
nightmares
Ghosts are speculating what
significant weirdness
awaits me there.
In my dream,
a bear hibernates
In Summer
How loss closes in on me
He left behind an empty pocket
where my cigarettes used to be
Everything I ever loved
was in that flannel shirt
Long ago
Lies
The measure of desperate acts
Behind curtains and old skin
Rusted furnaces and smells of smoke
Old kitchen smells.
In a not-so-distant land
He ran without joy
Sweat poured from him
like compliments at a
Southern barbecue
Over stones he would leap
A gazelle in running shoes
Delivering warnings of
approaching misery
cleverly disguised as
Aunts and
Grandmothers
Uncompromisingly
Holding innocent-looking
Tupperware
On their proud laps --
Laps broad like church banquet tables
He ran without joy
Sounding the warning
To his comrades-in-arms
hiding in the honeysuckle
"Cousins! Cousins!" he shouted,
"the cheek-pinchers
are on the horizon!"
The willow trees are whispering
I wonder what they're saying now
I look behind, but nothing's there
A reflection of a face so fair
My father's worried brow
The train so labors on its journey
My mittens are too thin, I say
And in my heart
there is a yearning
to watch the seasons
gently turning
as willow branches sway
Around the bend I go, we go
Against the cold glass
my cheek presses
I left my dreams back at the station
And never gave an explanation
But only left them guesses
Each bump and thump beneath my soles
I feel the rumbling trembling fury
The sun is drowning in the distance
Melting in its daily slow dance
with me in such a hurry
Darkness comes and lights go on
Black velvet night beyond the glass
A cup of coffee would be nice
A smile like an apple slice
You can't forget the past
The train slows down and coughs a bit
Its weary joints are stiff and dry
I have a hat I bought in Maine
I can't say I'll go there again
But perhaps someday I'll try
--Terry Phipps Lane
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