13 and Counting

His lanky frame

slouched down on

the sofa as he

talked with

a comfort level

unusual for a

thirteen year old

Long eye lashes

blinked his words

to explain where

he was headed

in life and

mistakes made

Not wanting to

reveal too much

he stopped mid sentence

to protect awkward

feelings and sense

of place in his world

A treasure of time

for both young and old

on a planet

ever changing

as  meteors

dropped from an

August sky

Color Coded

I dressed carefully

for mourning

Black dress with

sprigs of muted flowers

Coral, the color of night

on my finger and wrist

All in honor of a student

who through her suffering

had become my mentor

The day ahead would be

tear filled and slow

Black for grief and colorful

blooms to signify her spirit

Never dark, always light

Where the faithful believe

she is floating now

Reading the Signs

NO SWIMMING, DIVING OR JUMPING IN CHANNEL

spray painted in blue block letters

on the concrete caught my eye

Black coffee sloshed in my cup keeping me warm

against a cool wind blowing off Lake Michigan

in this early summer beach town

Seagulls screeching and dipping low

fighting each other for tiny silver fish,

my only company

“Graymark” on a wooden board above a shingle cottage,

the sagging threshold showing years of sandy feet,

reminiscent of my own lack of upkeep

Reaching the end, I peered into the foreboding water

while two teenaged boys, with their pals there for support,

jumped into the cold dark channel.  

In seconds their soggy heads popped up the ladder

bringing them to safety and I felt relief

because my arthritic knees could not have saved them.

So young and vital, jumping on a dare

laughing and ignoring the danger signs

which for me were everywhere.