I am a retired professor of French, living in New York City, taking painting lessons, and writing. This year I was pleased to have two books published by small presses: The Unknowing Muse (Dos Madres, 2014) and Wars Don’t Happen Anymore (Deerbrook Editions, 2015).
It’s a good thing
the night I saw him
dry the dishes,
hang the towel on a rack,
grind the coffee for the morning,
put away the Scrabble game,
speak to Markson on the phone,
arrange his shirt along the chair-back,
place his shoes under the bed,
and his watch under the reading light,
I didn’t know it was a ceremony
proceeding in an order I’d remember.
Blessed Be the Unforeseen
My mother, determined to have two
children, produced a healthy son, then
another, born too soon to breathe on his own.
Not until he’d fallen into Limbo, unchristened,
was I conceived in the mind and womb
of the mother who wanted two children, no fewer,
no more. I’m grateful to my doomed brother
whose misfortune left room on earth for me.
He wasn’t long remembered.
In time, she forgot us all--
her children, their children. Nor did she ever
imagine you, sweet Alistair Hart,
her great, great grandson.
An Archeologist in Amherst
We found the Poet’s footprints
and those of her Newfoundland dog!
Carlo would please you, says one of her letters.
He is dumb and brave.
We lifted the carpet,
pried off a stratum of flooring,
and beheld the boards that had witnessed
her mission, his devotion,
the weight of his paws,
the lesser pressure of her slippers.
and the marks
no mop has dared to wash away.
©2015 Sarah White