It’s Six Months…But It Seems Shorter
I say hello to you
when I pass All Saints
on my way to visit your brother.
Six months ago today,
the phone rang.
Early.
You didn’t have to deal with the virus.
Is that a blessing? Some say so.
You didn’t see Mother’s Day,
but we remembered you.
We all now share in your things:
puzzle books, your blue scarf,
and a hand mirror which was
the last thing we bought you.
It was cold at the cemetery.
Your warm heart helped us
ignore the wind.
Stephen Spignesi
September 11, 2020
•••••
"My Mother's Day Gift"
by Stephen Spignesi
My Mother's Day gift will be nothing from a store
She has no use for those things anymore
My Mother's Day gift will be a visit
To a windswept plot of green
Marked with stone
And silent but for the occasional
Coo of a visiting dove
Bearing the welcome promise of
Reunion one distant day.
May 10, 2020
• • • • •
I say hello to you
when I pass All Saints
on my way to visit your brother.
Six months ago today,
the phone rang.
Early.
You didn’t have to deal with the virus.
Is that a blessing? Some say so.
You didn’t see Mother’s Day,
but we remembered you.
We all now share in your things:
puzzle books, your blue scarf,
and a hand mirror which was
the last thing we bought you.
It was cold at the cemetery.
Your warm heart helped us
ignore the wind.
Stephen Spignesi
September 11, 2020
•••••
"My Mother's Day Gift"
by Stephen Spignesi
My Mother's Day gift will be nothing from a store
She has no use for those things anymore
My Mother's Day gift will be a visit
To a windswept plot of green
Marked with stone
And silent but for the occasional
Coo of a visiting dove
Bearing the welcome promise of
Reunion one distant day.
May 10, 2020
• • • • •
Visiting
by Stephen Spignesi
1
I came for you, a fraud
In afternoon confusion
Worthy
From the pain of the night before.
You were
Quiet in pink and the trees
Breathed as you left
Your property.
I was with you.
You talked books and friends
And thought it strange that I
Thought and mentioned how strange I felt.
2
We marked the pages
With old matches
That would not burn.
On the bench seat you wormed
Over to my property
And smiled
At the dead eyes
Driving
The car.
3
With flowers I sent
You a letter from Norway:
Dearest,
What with the rain
And business
And all,
I really can't forecast
Predictability.
But as promised,
Here's that Henry Miller
I spoke of.
Placidly, S.
4
The strangers spoke.
Year after year
We praised breathing
Rather than mention
The dead one
That on each need
Thrives.
With the song of the goat
On the air, the yards
Are dense with quiet
This dim
Sweaty
Evening.
July 16, 1971
by Stephen Spignesi
1
I came for you, a fraud
In afternoon confusion
Worthy
From the pain of the night before.
You were
Quiet in pink and the trees
Breathed as you left
Your property.
I was with you.
You talked books and friends
And thought it strange that I
Thought and mentioned how strange I felt.
2
We marked the pages
With old matches
That would not burn.
On the bench seat you wormed
Over to my property
And smiled
At the dead eyes
Driving
The car.
3
With flowers I sent
You a letter from Norway:
Dearest,
What with the rain
And business
And all,
I really can't forecast
Predictability.
But as promised,
Here's that Henry Miller
I spoke of.
Placidly, S.
4
The strangers spoke.
Year after year
We praised breathing
Rather than mention
The dead one
That on each need
Thrives.
With the song of the goat
On the air, the yards
Are dense with quiet
This dim
Sweaty
Evening.
July 16, 1971