Summer's End

Once meant dread.
Of a new school,
Up front, teacher’s
Hand on my head,
Causing a shudder,
Stammering my name
To a pack of strangers.

Walking home in
A new sweater set,
Wool skirt, too warm
For September sun
As mother warned.

Finale of a summer love,
A boy from out of town
Visiting his grandmother,
Who left with my address,
Never to be heard from.

Relief when my children
Who’d gotten quarrelsome
Went back to school.
Later, back to college,
House to ourselves again.

Then, time to get ready
For winter in southern sun.

Last year, a life together gone.

This year, a winter alone.

Mouse Play

Soft, sunny day.
Pale blue sky with
little tufts of cloud.
Nibbled by
tiny mice
who stopped on
their way to the moon.

It was said
to be made of
a special cheese
found nowhere
on earth.
How did they know?

Mother mouse told
them the story each
night when they were
Tiny and hairless.
She described the smell,
that made the nose
quiver and touched
the tongue with a tingle.
They would know it
By the creamy case with
Streaks of chartreuse.
The taste of this cheese
was out of this world,
one little bite to be sure.

The mice lingered
in the clouds to play,
waiting for
the moon to rise,
spied their path,
sped over the stars
in a quest for
unearthly delight..

Dreaming of Roses

I have a bar of soap
given to me three years ago
by my beautiful, no longer
daughter in law. Now she is
my friend. This rose scented
soap which I have never opened
is beautifully wrapped in
dusty red paper, delicately
decorated with cherry blossoms
and banded in gold. It sits
on the dresser near my bed.
Each night, when I lie down,
The powdery rose aroma brings
to mind my grandmother's rosewater.
I see a single magenta
petal, the fairy fine veins
in it, feel the baby skin softness.
The hint of roses I breathe
brings all this to mind as it
touches the very back
of my tongue with the
faint taste of raspberries.

Happy Days

The boy and his dad
Stood in the morning sun.
Squinting, he looked up,
His dad’s beard was
The color of his own hair,
It shined in the light.
He used to be here alone
Until his dad stopped working
Now he waited with him
For the school bus.
His dad was sad
About losing his job,
Sometimes his mom acted
Mad, leaving for work,
But the boy was secretly glad.
He loved the stories his dad
Told him while they waited.
How he used to stand here
When he was young,
Their old stone house
Was the school long ago,
A blue and yellow sign
By the corner says so.
He told him of his granddad
Going to the school and how
All the walls used to be space,
Even his little blue bedroom.
The whole kitchen wall was
Covered by a big blackboard
And the teacher’s desk sat right
Where they ate their dinner.
The bus groaned to a stop,
His dad gently ruffled his hair
As he climbed the steps.
He hoped his dad
Would never find a job.