The curtains hang over widows that have not been opened
for years.

I am scared to raise the yellowed
shade.  Behind the grime of ages the half rolled up crackling
fabric has tales to tell.

Yesterday is gone, tomorrow
may not fall from the transom.
I am aware of this other space
above the dust and mouse
droppings on the sills of
yesterday.

If you ever come here again
you will find the splats where
my tears have spilled.  The
view from the second floor
window is distorted by my
sad eyes.  

I will be near, ever near, to
you here in this place of
memories where once we
swayed to music
from another room.

It was all so long ago when
we were young and dancing
to the sounds of
unrequited love.

Open your eyes.
I am standing by the window
abandoned to the rains.
The streaks of your young
face never fade no matter
the years.

The shade remains in place.
My thoughts steam
on the ***** glass.
My breath never distorts
the singular mission to
redeem the past.

If you return here you will
find me dreaming
alone by the marks
of yesterday.


Caroline Shank

smaller than
an orange

I lifted her
and saw her

bruises and scars

she was not
perfect

but I took her
home anyway

she was
so sweet

I tried to
catch a leaf

as it fell
floating

in the coolness
I always

wanted to be
changing

directions
adapting

to the push
and the pull

always in
the perfect

position to
land so easily

Let me go Lord.
Save my memories in an old
coffee can. Tie it with string.
Give my bed to a homeless
woman who hasn't reached
the turning.

Take the white out of my hair,
and take my blue eyes too.
I have seen pain's
kaleidoscope. And
I was afraid.

Return what tenderness
survives to the flowers
lest I wilt them with
careless whispers.

Take me out of church
before the offertory.

Scatter the ashes of
a life sorely led on the
edge of the pond where
memories, like
sargassum, trap me.

Bring to me a dram of
whiskey.  Mix it with
the remains of my
life's last call.

Time Gentlemen.

My song is done.
Let me go Lord.
I am an image
wrapped in
Saturday.
.


Caroline Shank

You are and you are not,
From infinity to a single dot,
From stillness to passion,
A night to commemorate your compassion.

It snowed atop the mountain,
a cold wind blow,  
in the meadows the winter has said hello.

I learned
to plant the seeds
of happiness.
There are flowers
blooming
where the scars
used to be.

R.M.

For months,

I've been wandering,
through winding
silences

hoping
I'd find your chaos
one day.