Painting

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painting

I dreamed of a house by the sea,
a house full of love where
happiness flowed
like the tide,
where salt wind blew
singing mermaid songs
through beach grass, bayberry,
and porch screens.
Where we’d race
across damp sand
and splash into the cold sea
in dazzling Cape sun,
then wrapped in white kimonos
sit on the porch of our house on a hill
overlooking the waves,
eat bacon and raspberries,
sip coffee,
which appeared magically,
though we had complete privacy.
Where we’d read mysteries.
Where wild roses grew in the yard
and I made rose hip jelly.
Where we would always be together,
fresh as the first of May,
and happy.

Our grandfather clock ticks
the time away. It’s chimes
have marked off many days,
both good and hard to bear,
since I dreamed
early dreams.
Our house on a hill
overlooks the Bay
of another sea.
Our wild roses are white and
need to be sprayed
so the hips can’t be used for jelly.
Our pink roses are behind chicken
wire to protect them
from hungry deer.
You don’t like kimonos,
would rather wear denim.
I slather sun block.
We eat tofu, not bacon,
because of the salt.
and we peek at TV
while we read
mysteries.
The part of the dream
that came completely true
was that I’m happy
growing old
with you.


When I walk in early
morning fresh air, you are
with me, holding
my lucky hand
that holds the hand
of a decent man.


When the fog blew in,
the fog horns blew,
and we had a fire in
the franklin stove
and curled up cozily,
while drinking tea,
in Irish sweaters
and jeans.
We’ve seen scams, and fakes,
and greed personified,
exhibiting
the corrupt side of humanity.