These Four Walls

A house is just four walls, a roof, some windows
and doors erected to shelter inhabitants. Just masonry
and mortar, wood, - rude materials these.

But, if these four walls could speak, what saga would
they tell? They would spin a tale of the hopes
and dreams of those who had walked between;

of the man who constructed each wall by hand anticipating
his bride’s arrival; of the young wife who gazed from
the kitchen window while her hand caressed the life within;

of the eagerly awaited additions that increased two
to three then four, and the love that expanded
with each new arrival. Of toddling steps, scraped knees,

bruises and bloody noises, ballerina and astronaut wishes,
puppy kisses; of first loves and broken hearts, and of graduations;
of a father’s pride and a mother’s tears

as their fledglings left the nest, and of the joy that bloomed
again and again when the next generation danced
across the threshold; of the quiet love that sustained

both man and woman through all the years and joined
them one to the other in life, and then in death. Now these
four walls are all alone with only memories to roam within.

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Her Dreams

As a child, things seem like they last forever
each day, a year between sunrise and sunset;
a minute is an eternity with no realization
of time passing until death comes to call

Her parents were forever, always relied upon
to slay the monsters under the bed,
no wondering, no worrying until her father died
and she learned the weight of sorrow.

When she walked down the aisle to join
her forever love, a vow made until death do
them part; death came calling two years later
with a judge’s decree in a courthouse

She worked hard attempting to be the best
only to be passed over because she was not a he;
still she gave her everything, living for the job,
until her fast-track success dream came crashing down

She realized she’d been trapped inside a false idea,
lost her way, lost herself. She floundered in the abyss
until reconnecting with the dreams hidden inside,
found the words there caged, loosed them on the page,

now she seeks within, realizing that death and life
are necessary just like sunrise and shadow,
that success and freedom are what you make of them
while travelling the road expressed within the heart.

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The Box

The day we met, I wasn’t looking for you,
but we found each other anyway at the fishpond
in the park, both looking for a quiet place to sit
out of the way of the carnival going on around us.

We bonded while feeding greedy Koi, over fuchsia lotus
blossoms and the cool, green water. We discovered
a mutual interest the blues and a dislike of loud,
noisy games that interrupted silent contemplation.

We built from that meeting, with long walks and discussions
of current events, books. You loved Sylvia Plath, hated
Thoreau while I found worlds inside his writing and
never quite understood her at all.

Still we became a couple, joined our lives together
in marriage. When the towers fell, you needed to defend,
to become a part of that. While we disagreed on the necessity
of the war, I supported your position.

We said farewell one rainy morning; I waved to you
as you boarded the plane that would take you far away
among people who hated us. I donned my brave face
and waited for you to come home to me.

Two became one, and life went on. Days passed with bills
being paid, friends calling, solitary dinners and sleeping beside
you only in my dreams. Until the tolling of the door bell. Until
the two men arrived upon our porch.

They said, with regret, that you had died, bravely, a hero defending
his country. I never expected to be alone, sitting in the dark
watching the sky rage wildly against the night. Wondering
how I can face you returning to me in a flag-draped box.

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Shall I . . . ?

You say that you can’t go on, that it all feels too much . . .


Shall I agree that this is the only way, that nothing will ever improve?

Shall I grant you permission, or solace, or your need for forgiveness?

Shall I give you leave to end your life upon this Earth?

No, that I will not do.


Shall I sing a song of tear-cried rivers from anguished souls left behind?

Shall I tell you of my angry heart that rages against allowing your light to die?

Or, shall I fight for you, and with you until the day you draw your last breath?

Oh, yes, THAT I will do.

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