Cada Mañana

La voz de Patrick en las palabras de una amiga.

Cierro los ojos y lo oigo…cada mañana
Que bonita es la vida!, que bella!…
hoy he visto al hombre con su tractor
bajo el sol, entre els marges
cuanto trabajo le queda
cuanto trabajo hace
como redibuja mi montaña
como me enseña sus secretos
siempre ante mis ojos
siempre sobre la ventana
cada mañana
que hermosa vivirla
acaricio mi albahaca
su olor me embruja
y yo seducido quedo
por el brillo del sol
tras la montaña

cada mañana

Wearing His Trunks in the Hotel Pool

Wearing his trunks in the hotel pool,
My eyes stinging from his absence
      and the heavy chlorine in the water

Jacuzzi, as agitated as my heart,
      and just as empty

I soak in the hot and turbulent flow,
Remembering lively conversations
Wishing there would be more

It’s a crisp evening,
      the sky clear,
Populated with stars and memories

I remember too his pain,
The agony that immobilized him,
      extinguished his vitality

At long last the timer shuts off
      The waters turn tranquil

I see again the peaceful beauty of his final place
      Am comforted in his choice
      Serenity and final destination
At last, freed from pain

It calms me

The knowing of it releases my own

I need not follow his specific path

I accept the loss
      try to heal
Replacing each sad memory
with some joyous moment from our mutual past

     

Copyright © 2018 John Dillon

NOTE: This is private, non-published material. You are reading it is because I have shared this with you privately for your feedback.

 

patrick (a Poem by Stephanie)

It seems appropriate to post this on Valentine’s Day, that Hallmark card celebration that can nonetheless be used to convey real love. I’ll post the back story that goes with it when I get a chance.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

– Part of a collection of pieces Patrick sent me on 11 August 2015 called You Never Know.

Yesterday We Were Eight

My Father’s Braces

There, wadded up in the pocket of Patrick’s bathrobe, hanging in Ivonne’s closet, in the Old Town, on the island he so loved, were his suspenders.

Memories surfaced: His dapper look, bearing his age with dignity and class.

New memories emerged: Packing the boxes, sorting out the things people wanted, the things to donate; sending shoes to one sister, shirts to another, sweaters to both; delivering to Ivonne the robe and that set of braces. Continue reading “Yesterday We Were Eight”