A Jar of Macadamia Nuts

“Things aren’t important.

Things are important.

Does that make sense?”

 

She stood before me

In the supermarket.

A friend, I haven’t seen in over a year.

A disease that is slowly melting her cartilage away.

She smiled joyfully at me,

In front of the shredded cheese.

Her happiness had nothing to do with the cheese.

I hope.

 

“I think so.” I replied.

“Big things aren’t important.

Small things are.”

 

Her smile continued.

“Yes last year I couldn’t stand.

I might have to have surgery to fuse my spine.

I won’t be able to move my head ever again.”

 

I said, “Like this?”

Slowly moving my back, neck, and head from side to side as one

Imagining what life would be like,

Like a naive child learning about homeless for the first time.

 

“Yes,” she said.

We stood, for a moment, in silence as the Friday shoppers passed us,

In a frenzied passion,

As if the three for two special

Held the meaning of life

Or the riches of Solomon.

 

“You look well,” I said and I meant it.

In fact, she looked beautiful,

With a knowledge and understanding

That few possess.

 

 

“Thanks,” she smiled again.

Her eyes closed as discomfort from her condition took hold of her.

“I can only get around now for small amounts of time

And I’m about done.”

 

I noticed a jar of Macadamia nuts in her hand

And looked around for her cart.

“Is you cart somewhere?”

 

No, this is all I came for.”

I looked confused

So she continued,

“Last year I couldn’t stand,

I couldn’t clean.

I couldn’t be the mother

I wanted to be.

Everything I thought I once was,

I wasn’t.

I couldn’t even bake.

I love baking.

For now,

At this moment,

I can do things,

Small things,

Simple things.

Today I can bake cookies.”

She looked at the jar in her hand

And smiled sadly.

“Today I can bake,

Silly really.”

 

Not silly at all.

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Equinox 050718

Your sun-drenched smile has thawed my winter walls

Ice, so thick, no one could enter.

The dark cave where I have hid myself

From all others,

No matter their intentions,

No longer cloaks me in my sorrow.

 

You have done

Nothing but bring your warmth

Nothing but smile completely

Melting, melting lonely frost

Like the sun passing its vernal equinox

Calling Inanna from the underworld.

 

I know this spring

Cannot, will not last

But it’s call,

It’s warm winds

Gently lifts my hopes.

And demands emergence

From my winter worries.

 

As I stand exposed

Willing to risk the pain of connecting,

Of connections.

I hope for a fleeting moment,

Bathed in gentle breezes

And soft scented kisses.

And then again 041718

I look down the street at night

Forced perspective in grey scale.

Sharp lines slicing my field of vision

Like the pains of broken glass

Clinging to a misremembered past,

Dividing me from happiness.

The shards eager to slice

And the distance remains distant

And my contentment contentious.

 

I look up into the night sky

The stars reflect pale colors of

Rose, blue, and gold

Blackened forms streak above

Destroying the silent beauty

Of the moon’s soft call

The dark spirits eager to

tear my hopes like

tissue paper on empty floors.

Dropped in distraction, abstractions.

 

I think of you

And then again

My shattered world

Is a reflection

Of multitudes

And multitudes

Of reflections

Of my shattered world

And then again

I think of you.

 

Thoughts on Gun Control

Time to stop

 You tell us that it is too soon to talk about it.

That we shouldn’t make this political.

That now is the time for us to pray for the victims and their families.

When is a good time to talk about it?

When will a mother stop mourning for her child?

When will a son stop missing his parent?

When will a friend stop thinking of the life cut short?

I still think of the neighborhood boy who was shot in an accidental shooting.

That was fifty years ago.

I still think of John and Martin and Robert.

I still think of a friend who took his own life on Christmas eve.

That was twenty years ago.

I still think of the Charleston Nine who died at the hands of a white supremacist as they sat in church.

There will never be a better time to talk about it then now.

Let us give the mourners comfort in the fact that this will never happen again.

That might give them some comfort.

It won’t bring their loved one back.

But it will stop others from mourning other loved ones.

 

Ireland in Black & White Excerpt #1

From Ireland in Black and White

Photography Sam Beckett

Poetry by A.F. Winter

A tree so covered with vines
The tree disappears
But the tree remains.
I thought my love for you had gone
But love remains.

 

Available at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1978053266/

I’ll Know 10/28/2017

I’ll know

I no longer love you

When my phone rings

And I no longer hope

For it to be you

But I do.

For now I do.

 

I’ll know

I no longer love you

When I no longer need

To hold a pillow

When I fall asleep

But I do.

For now I do.

 

For now I do.

A phone, a bed

A breakfast plate

For now I do.

A book, a song

A broken date

For now I do.

 

For now I do

A hidden hope

Inside a prayer

For now I do

As days rush on

And chances fade

For now I do.

 

S.B. 100517

I met Sam in O’Donoghue’s

Nursing my mushroom soup and Guinness.

And listening to the pensioners playing familiar tunes.

It was cool outside and I had no desire

To leave the warm, joyful atmosphere

Created by rich food, cool stout and Irish music.

 

He brought one of the musicians a cider

And sat down at the table next to mine.

At the end of the song, he turned to me and asked,

“Are you American?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Are you Irish?”

He warmly laughed.

 

We talked for hours

About politics, and literature, and love.

Because all politics and literature

Come from love.

 

He talked about his several marriages,

And of the children he’s lost touched with,

A smile never left his lips.

I told him of my broken heart

That’s never healed.

A smile never breached my lips.

 

Sam sat back in his chair

And finished off his pint.

“All my mistakes were glorious,

Glorious and unforgettable.”

“My mistakes were just mistakes,” I  sadly smiled.

“That’s all they ever were.”

 

“Yes, but weren’t they all lovely?” He grinned.

I had another drink of my stout

Before I said, “Yes, I believe they were.”