Three Poems by Cleo Griffith

Swallows spell poetry through early air, shadows on the porch fade, textures appear, morning is revelation to those who look, breeze vibrant, heart filled. Loss has its place in perfection, I accept that, grateful for the lesson, learned the only way that is real – by loss. Memory as the jewel it is. Petunias and pansies brighten my window view, doves, swallows, sparrows sweep away sorrow, each presentation of nature preserves the positive, and I remember the wonders of the past, and love.

Oh, this blue sky is not mine, mine is gray and dingy, like my skin, my thoughts, my future, how I would love to once again believe my heart was a balloon, could rise to creamy clouds, all pink-tinged and soft. My life, like Hamlet’s, is “an un-weeded garden gone to seed” and “fie on it” say I, too. This was not the plan—to grow old. In youth’s brief time youth seemed forever— how cruel. How hard I fight, present these bright red lips as though to kiss, leave my imprint on each human, each spring daffodil, my teary eyes behind glasses that hide us from each other. Damn, I hate this skin that crinkles, this scowl that at this moment I am deepening in my pain. Now, look—a bird has approached from the nearby cypress, does it bear a secret of the ever green? Perhaps its rippling song will cheer me, explain to me, there is life after youth. But I don’t believe it, I don’t. I don’t, I won’t, I can’t.

Let the roads open pray the broken cars out of the ditch the bus full of musicians can measure the distance to home from New York, Boston, don’t let the skyways close around you hold tight to your keys whatever they open, those entries are your fate you as caretaker where you care and you examine, choose each day as adventure always with one hand holding his, though later he may slip away at crossroads which were closed only yesterday, pray for the opening and continuing the road does end, nothing lasts forever life is open life closes you are the subject, the traveler, the destination.