Sunday, June 19, 2016

The Silent Buddha

by Larry Gates
From The Haiku Anthology

The silent Buddha
     holding in his lap
          a handful of shadows

Sunday, June 12, 2016

Me and the Moon

Me and the Moon by Arthur G. Dove, 1937, The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C.

Sunday, June 5, 2016

Bed Bath

by Kat Comer
In memory of Gus Brauer, January 2008

8:00 am
Busy hands gather a harvest
of sheets and towels from the dryer. 
Carefully, we carry water
from room to room in plastic tubs,
remove light bulbs to dim the glare,
open blinds to the outside world
while, expressionless, you stare
into morning's feeble light
and see nothing of the sorrow
that weighs upon Joan,
bending her in pain as
her shattered knees slam
against the rails of your bed.

Gus, her body is wearing down.
Her sleep deprived nights are
taking their toll.
Understand, she cannot control
your leaving, your long drift
toward home.
Alone upon the shore
helpless, angry, and burdened
with guilt, she watches you
withdraw a little more each day,
tucked in a fetal curl or
prone in crucifixion on
soiled, urine soaked sheets.

The ritual of water soothes 
the broken flesh but not
the panicked heart.
The furtive kiss, the squeezed hand,
the sudden tears - 
each stroke of the razor
smoothes what is rough
along the neck, under the nose - 
visible surfaces easily within reach.
These are the tender mercies that
call us home to one another,
that alone can redeem the 
absence still to be endured.