Red Shoes
A pair of red shoes on the floor beneath
the bed, covered with dust, their owner
long grown and gone, the shoes left behind
as a reminder of her youth and beauty
but also of her anger. What more could we
have done? The bedspread, starched and ironed
once a year, its lace trim growing tattered,
still it covers up so much.
Naps
In the heartbeat of the night, when sleep balks
and the plumbing is singing a sotto voce lullaby,
it’s hard not to think of a day, any day, when you
were younger, stronger, more filled with life.
Chopping firewood, shovelling snow, trimming trees,
chasing cattle, cats and puppies, a woman’s work
is never done, not around here anyway, where women
rule the roost and roosters play out-of-tune second fiddle.
There’s always beds and supper to make, dishes,
the vacuuming…and finally a nap well-earned.
Falling into it, though, she’s always reminded
of the time when she’d go all day and still be restless
at bedtime, a time when naps were what she put
her kid down for, a time when the red shoes
beneath her bed were not reminders but for dancing,.
The Moon’s Pale Wine
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
Aline from “Lady Windermere’s Fan” by Oscar Wilde
Finally, the storm abated, the night sky reveals itself again
as a repository of wonder, blankets of stars vying with
a waning gibbous moon for the honour of bringing
enlightenment to we dumbstruck gazers below. Some of us
shiver in the cold night light while others take comfort
in the stars’ gorgeous spill, drinking in buckets
of the moon’s pale wine. Snow fall, the heaven’s tears,
sifts across your face, reminding you that you’re alive
and that’s all that really matters.
