I have an odd dynamic with my father-in-law:
He is a 90 year old man but a very new soul, whereas
I am merely half his age but my soul has traveled twice
by thrice his. Our interplays are often quite quirky.
© Chagall 2017
Tag Archive: age
Christmas Morning on the Lower East Side when I was five
I awoke to find a tiny white baby grand piano alongside
the tree that crowded the front room of our railroad apartment.
Not quite a toy, it was a real instrument crafted to stand
not two feet high. On the beautiful bench sat a card in script
that simply said Love Dad.
This year, for what would be his 100th Christmas, I will place
my hands on the keyboard again to wish him peace in silent night.
© Chagall 2016
Dear Sara – I was deeply saddened today to realize it will take less time to attain your parents’ age than has transpired since we first met. Desperately breathing irregularly. Love, Carlos
© Chagall 2016
I am exhilarated by early morning and
the promise of timelessness
to experience life’s wonder.
Till evening song
when hours hang heavily and
I shift to the eternity of sky for bearing.
© Chagall 2016
Ripe things are
getting harder to find
nowadays.
© Chagall 2016
The night is crisp, autumnal.
Bourbon sweeter.
My son and his petite amie
at a friend’s cabin while they’re away.
With them, a bag of sweet potatoes
I grew and cured, for roasting
over the wood fire they’ll make.
Life is good.
Peepers sing earlier
than usual tonight. Harmonics from breezes
to trees to shape the glass arc of our ears
to blow gently in them.
I am yellow aged orange inflamed
dared to go red before withering.
I pray to the last gold ray of sun
there in the tall eastern trees
that refuses to say die to another day.
© Chagall 2016
I retrace the line of
her handwritten note
to make me feel
she’s still here
Chagall 2016
One day long
ago I lived
with a senorita
who scored
clave-shaker
duets for money
From the window
I shouted
It appears as if
snow is starting
to fall!
She whispered dryly
Then let’s let it
Chagall 2016
We scream at each other
we are art – some say
Whisperers
I hear you
Beat me purple baby
till I’m plumb
Just a kiss away
we’re whisked away
some cabaret
I stand
corrected
I lie
in and on and about
green meadows
Till we fall
softest of all
about them
Chagall 2016
My heart, adept at somersaults,
sticks the perfect landing.
The pain in my knees though tells me that
it’s not that long till fall.
So tape me up
to brace me tight
in time for another go.
Madly to the springboard
without stopping to plant
I soar of my own desire.
I emulate feathers floating
till ground.
To lie there
spying clouds move
up and down as well as left and right.
In motion emotionally always
forever truly yours.
Chagall 2016
