Shutters

Stares at the shutters, broken,

dangling awry on one screw,

moving with each gust

of wind, breeze, unpainted,

paint peeling, weather worn,

weather wearing, wearing

weather like a faded

hand-me-down, maintenance

unremembered, left

to the forgotten memory

of others.

Imagines her leaning

from the upstairs window,

remembers her leaning,

laughing, the mother

frowning in front-porch

disapproval, but she leaning,

laughing, not caring.

The shutters were painted,

then.

Photograph by David Wagner via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Laughter, silenced

Runs his hand over flaking paint,

yellow chips breaking from the sill,

adhering to his fingers, dried

edges slightly jabbing

old house, left alone: dust,

accumulated debris of absence,

wallpaper curling to escape

confinement, empty rooms

her room, twelve by twelve box,

window panes broken, fractured.

Still hears her laughter,

silenced.

              -- from The White Cliff Poems

This poem is submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

How Did You Live That?

She asks him what it was like, how
did you, do you live that. And he
shrugs, but not before a gleam of
pain escapes his eyes and shudders
her heart. I don’t know, he says;
I don’t know. She says I want to,
need to know and because his eyes
are bonding to her heart he tells her

they believe the lie and hate
translate the lie into abuse and
beatings and the burns the terrible
burns when a cigarette is
extinguished on your back the
beatings a rape of soul and heart
a torture of the mind a torture of the
body a human act of human
destruction I longed for prayed for
the blessing of a rope a needle an
electric current but my prayer is a
stone dropped in a deep pool and it
never reaches bottom

The telling opens the door to pain
and to something else.

--From The White Cliff Poems

To see more poems for One Shot Wednesday, please visit One Stop Poetry.

A Car Accident, An Anniversary, SharePoint and White Cliffs

No, it wasn’t my car accident; our friend and Pleasantly Disturbed Thursday founder Duane Scott is recuperating after a car accident yesterday. There won’t likely be the usual weekly links but Duane would want us to carry on. So here’s to a speedy recovery for him. And please pray for him; his injuries weren’t serious or life-threatening but they were injuries and his car looks totaled (and it wasn't his fault).


Yesterday was our wedding anniversary, and the weather decided to do something totally bizarre for late August in St. Louis – it dramatically cooled off, with a high of around 80. We ditched the plan we had for eating at a local restaurant and instead went to the Missouri Botanical Gardens, which is open late on Wednesdays. We walked and walked through what has to be one of the most beautiful places in St. Louis. The "gardens," as we call them, are filled with memories for us. We've been members since 1979 and the only photo we have of my wife pregnant with our firstborn was taken there; we also have a photo of our daughter-in-law pregnant (with grandson Cameron) taken in the exact same spot.

After the gardens we ate at a new tapas restaurant in our suburban town of Kirkwood. Splendid evening.

It’s been an intense seven days at work, and we’re beginning to see the end of it. Beginning last Wednesday, our team has been transferring text files, photos and videos from the current company web site to the new site, which is scheduled to launch on Sunday. We’re learning how to use Microsoft’s SharePoint platform at the same time. Very full days, sitting in front of a computer screen all day in a boiler-room like operation, trying to keep your other work going or at least left not far behind, looking at your calendar and realizing you’ve been tripled-booked into meetings and having to skip all three because of the web site project. It’s almost over.

In between days packed with transferring text files, I’ve been reading The Apple Trees at Olema: New and Selected Poems by Robert Haas. Virtually all the poems in the volume are story poems, and I’m enjoying how he tells them.

Several people asked me about the poem I posted yesterday, “Running Back Roads.” Specifically, they wondered about the little tagline at the end – “From The White Cliff Poems.” Well, it’s a slight conceit of mine. There is no published volume called The White Cliff Poems. It is a group of poems (18 so far) that I’ve written to help me structure and develop this novel I’ve been working on. A few of the others include “The Cemetery Attendant,” “The Silence of the Trees,” “From a Blessing Destroyed,” “Country Store” and “The Solace of the Woods.” I’m not sure if all or any of these will surface in the manuscript, but they are providing considerable help. There are more to come.

And please pray for Duane.