POEMOGRAPHY | 2023
Poems by R.M. Usatinsky
pōəˈmäɡrəfē, noun: form or process of writing and representing poetry
OCTOBER
01OCT23 | SUKKOT
Shabbos dinner on the first
night of Sukkot; there's a
chill in the hut as the crisp
autumn air breaches the
thatched roof; we eat soup
and a variety of cold dishes
served in small plastic bowls:
egg salad, aubergine, hummus,
cole slaw (actually served in a
glass bowl); then meat is served
(which I do not eat) accompanied
by fried rice and a delicious kugel
made from pumpkin (I think I may
have overheard) that I ate about
four small servings of; the rabbi
poured vodka (which I passed
along to the Israeli gentleman sitting
to my left) and, after downing several
himself, the rabbi proceeded to tell
the longest story I had ever heard him
tell (in Dutch, to my chagrin) about,
I think, Chaim Yankel, who wasn't
able to find an etrog anywhere in his
small Russian shtetl; the story literally
went on for fifteen minutes (maybe more)
and when the punchline was finally given,
(I had already lost the thread by then) it
brought the house down; a massive fruit
plate was served from which I pulled off
a small bunch of green seedless grapes
(which were deliciously cold and sweet)
and a single, slightly tart raspberry; we
chanted the grace after meals and, like
we did last year, folded our folding chairs
and brought them into the rabbi's house; I
thanked my hosts and made my way home
02OCT23 | MESSY (FOR K.)
I like straight lines
and empty rooms
and the way your
smile makes time
stand still; your voice
and laugh remind me
of days gone by; the
childlike innocence
I oftentimes forget;
you have reminded
me of everything
that’s been missing
from my life; laughter
and love and wonder;
and when you softly
touched my face, I
knew those were the
hands I wanted to
hold while walking
down sandy beaches
and cobblestone streets
through whatever of life's
adventures that remain in
what little time we are all
given here in this short life;
hands to wipe the tears
away and hands that will
hold me as I pass from this
life to the next; I've never
been a big fan of messy;
I like tidy and order and
symmetry; but that only tells
half the story; I have junk
drawers and thirty boxes of
mementos, things I've kept
stored away and nearby for
the past forty years; and I've
always kept my underwear in
the top drawer (isn't that where
you're supposed to keep them?);
and I always put the toilet seat
down; and yes, there’s a verse
here with five lines as I have
broken with convention; it’s
to show you I’m not inflexible,
that within I have the power
and ability to fluctuate from
the predictable, to be fluid and
ever-changing; to be everything
you could ever want me to be
03OCT23 | K.
The first novel I ever read
(I mean really read) was
Kafka’s The Castle, written
in 1922 but left unfinished
as the author died some 17
months later; The Castle was
one of three books by Kafka
my grandfather had given me
days before I left for Spain in
the autumn of 1987; the novel's
protagonist, K., is an everyman,
frustrated by bureaucracy and
forsaken by his lover; I read the
novel during the first weeks after
arriving in Granada, where I had
to overcome the challenges of
settling in to a whole new world
and figure out how things worked
when I hardly new the language or
customs of how things were done;
and like K., I too was jilted by a
young woman who I had met at
a party on my first night in town
who seemed fascinated meeting
an American traveler and who,
while seeming to have fallen head
over heels for me, disappeared
after about a week, leaving me
nothing to remember her by except
for the small, square, quartz trinket
box she bought me at a stall in the
Alcaiceria, Granada's ancient silk
market; I lived in a small room in
a second-story building in a courtyard
owned by a wealthy woman named
María Dolores, who charged me the
equivalent of about ninety dollars a
month; I had about fifty possessions,
all housed in a shiny black steamer
trunk I purchased at an army-navy
surplus store in Chicago; my few
possessions were mostly clothes and
books, a walkman and a half dozen
cassette tapes and sundries; I also
had writing books and pens and a
somewhat inexpensive portable
electric typewriter I used to write
my first collection of poetry; now
I've recounted this story as sort of
a diversion; you see, I am in the
midst of pursuing (dare I say it)
a love interest, a woman whose
acquaintance I have recently made
and who I have, by means of a rather
pale shadow of an attempt of penning
a love letter, professed my being
charmed by; and I'm hiding that very
declaration here, buried well within
the depths of this long-winded soliloquy
so that if indeed her eyes ever come upon
these words, she will surely have no choice
other than to fall madly in love with me (at
least that is my romantic notion of how I'd
like to see things turn out in the end); until
then I will simply ponder all the possibilities,
all that could become of this, the wonderment
and splendor of discovering the brightest star in
the night sky, the one that leads me home at last
04OCT23 | I THOUGHT OF YOU
I thought of you as I drifted off to
sleep last night and I thought of
you as the first light of morning
slowly crept into my bedroom;
I thought of you as I prepared my
eggs for breakfast and wondered
how you liked your eggs (maybe
you don't even like eggs), but I
couldn't help lose myself in the
moment and dream of making
you breakfast and sitting at the
kitchen table with you every
morning drinking coffee, talking
about our plans, our children, our
dreams and visions and how the
universe blessed us with each other;
I'm thinking about you right now
as I write these words with a heart
filled with hope, filled with desire
and filled with exuberant delight
05OCT23 | SHADOWS
I thought I saw you
outside my shop window
standing in the shadows
beneath the leafy trees
in the square where the
lady sits on the bench;
I squinted through the
reflection of glare as I
stood there in silence
momentarily blinded by
the fear and excitement
of not knowing whether
my eyes were playing
tricks on me or if it was
merely the illusion of want,
my imagination conjuring up
the story of you putting your
son to bed and leaving him in
the care of a neighbor then
waiting for me in the shadows
06OCT23 | THE WIDOW'S HOUSE
I was riding the number one tram
when midnight struck and I had
just made a few notes on my phone
about the new love poem I was
going to write for you as soon as I
walked in the door; but when I got
off the tram and crossed the street
and walked by the widow's house,
as I do every worknight, the lights
were on in the frontroom and I saw
the widow sitting close to her young
daughter whose face was pressed
into her hands as she appeared to be
lost in some great outward expression
of grief, more than likely something
or another to do with the death of her
father, who passed away early last year
and who was just a few years older than
me; I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed
with a deep sense of sadness and pity for
the young woman and could barely contain
my own tears; it happens that I knew the
man and had met him once; he was a bow
tie wearer and then, a few years ago at
Christmastime, I packed up a few of my
bow ties and deposited them in his mailbox,
though I never did get a note of thanks or
acknowledgement of having received my
gift; and I had crossed paths with the widow
on a few occasions as the births of our two
youngest daughters were around the same
time and she had been going to the same
midwife; I spoke to her once, mentioning
that we had met some years earlier at a
social affair; by the time I turned the corner
I could no longer refrain from crying and
a burst of tears exploded from my eyes and
I found myself gasping for air and hoping
that no one would see me; then I realized I
rarely see anyone in the streets that late
at night and I wondered if perhaps the
world hadn't simply ended while I wasn't
looking and all that remained was the partial
moon, glowing through the autumn clouds
and the most profound sadness I have felt in
a very long time; but the sadness soon gave
way to another realization, that my very spirit
was being eaten away by loneliness; that unlike
the widow's daughter, I had no one to console
me, no shoulder to cry on; and that also made
me wonder who, if anyone, will cry for me
when I leave this place; who will sit inconsolable,
crying with their face pressed deeply into the
palms of their hands? who will mourn me and
who will write the story of my life just as the
widow did to pay homage to her beloved?
the moon is fully enveloped by the clouds
now, all that remains is a fading halo of
light that serves to remind me that, even
though I can not see it, the moon is still
there, full and large and illuminated by
the light of the sun; and while I can't see
you, you have become the halo of light that
reminds me there is even light in the darkness
07OCT23 | WONDERING WHAT'S NEXT
I'm an eternal optimist
and I was betting that
I'd hear from you this
week; and when I didn't,
I managed to convince
myself it was because you
were simply too busy with
work and raising a young
boy––which are completely
understandable––that I set
my sights on the weekend,
thinking you wanted to give
it some time, time to think
things over and not rush into
it and seem––though I would
never think so––overly zealous;
it's been five days and I must
admit I'm thinking about what's
next, what my next move might be
and how much courage I have left
08OCT23 | A POEM FOR K. (AND FOR K. ONLY)
This is a poem for K.;
if you are not K., please
withdraw your eyes from
this page and kindly return
tomorrow when the banter you
are accustomed to will return to
its everyday regularity; (thank you)...
Dear K., I can count on one hand all
of the times I have been captivated by the
allure of a woman; it has happened so very
infrequently during the course of my life that
when it does happen, there is simply no denying
it; now that we're here alone, just the two of us, I
thought it would be a good time to tell you a little
about myself; though strangely as it may sound,
you probably already know quite a lot about
me as I've been often told I'm a fairly easy
book to read and more or less a what you
see is what you get kinda guy; not many
surprises and even fewer skeletons in
my closet; I don't drink or smoke or
partake in recreational drug use (I
never have and never will); I've
been known to belch and fart
and swear and occasionally
I catch myself drooling on
my pillow, but not rudely,
and I consider myself a
gentleman and a very
devoted and loyal
family man with
five children;
I talk and listen;
I cry and laugh;
and I'll always
treat you with
respect and in
all the ways a
man should treat
a woman as lovely
and deserving as you;
so, here's my proposal...
why don't you book in at
the barbershop one evening;
come and sit in my chair and,
just as I do with my customers, we
can have a friendly chat (I imagine
I can't interest you in a haircut, shave
or beard trim!); the appointment is only
45 minutes and then you can be on your way
(hopefully you won't leave an unfavorable review!);
I'm at your service and hope you'll consider my proposal;
and I'll warn you, once you give me those forty-five minutes,
you'll find it hard––impossible maybe––to not want to come
again, as my retention rate is well over 75% (not bad for a
blabbermouth who only gives a mediocre haircut); but one
thing I can promise you (maybe two things, or three) is
that whatever happens, I know we'll both be glad we
took the leap of faith, had the courage, strength and
confidence to believe in fate...and in each other;
so, I'll wait and I'll hope (I might even pray a
little) that someday, perhaps even one day
soon, I'll get a notification of a booking
from a familiar name, someone simply
named K. who booked in the last
appointment of the night and
who didn't come for a cut or
a shave, but simply to see
me and talk to me and
maybe even ask me
a million questions
about this and that
and tell me about
all the things that
matter the most
in her life
09OCT23 | IMMORTAL TOUCH
I have found the fountain of youth
and it’s in your touch, in your hands
and fingertips, your arms and wrists;
you touched me and I was re-born
and now I find I can't live another
day without you; our time together
was ever so fleeting, but you gave
me a renewed sense of courage, a
reason to have a higher purpose; a
new perspective and a feeling that
I could do anything, accomplish
anything, achieve what has always
eluded me; my heart has been born
anew, you have given me the greatest
gift of all, your immortal touch that
has thwarted my demise and returned
the air to my lungs and has sent the
blood rushing through my veins; you
are the life force, the source of my
resurrection, my breath and being
10OCT23 | SLIPPING
Maybe I’m slipping in my old age;
perhaps my intuition isn’t as keen
as it once was and maybe I just
don’t have what it takes anymore;
what I do have is resilience and
infinite patience, so if that’s what
it takes I’m prepared to wait; and
that reminds me of a story that
one of the protagonists, Alfredo,
in one of my favorite films of all
time, Cinema Paradiso, told to
his young friend Toto, who was
hopelessly in love with Elena, the
banker’s lovely daughter; Alfredo
tells the story of a soldier who fell
in love with the king’s daughter, he
knew she would never have feelings
for a humble soldier but he professed
his love and the princess told the
soldier that if he waited under her
balcony for one hundred days and
one hundred nights, she would be
his; the soldier waited, day after day,
night after night enduring the harsh
elements, bee stings, birds shitting
on his head, but he remained as the
princess would watch from her window
above; then, on the 99th day, the soldier,
downtrodden, weak and with tears in his
eyes, simply walked away; in the film,
Toto asks Alfredo what the story means,
Alfredo looks at his young friend and
simply says, I don't have any idea; and
why did I find it so important to retell
that story here and now? well, I must
confess that I don't have any idea
11OCT23 | WHAT WOULD YOU DO?
What would you do if you were me?
falling in love with a stranger, a person
you hardly knew; well, if you were me,
you'd write love poems and love songs,
send love letters and day-old roses and
conjure up a million and one scenarios
about how this will become one of the
greatest love stories ever written; one
told and re-told for generations to come
by those who believed in love's power,
in what love once meant, so many, many
years ago; and what would you do if the
wind whispered my name into your ear?
or if the sun's rays etched my face upon
your heart; or if the sea promised you'd
never cry another tear of anguish, that
her waters would hold back the deluge
of sadness and you would be cast out
upon dry land, held safe forevermore
in the warm, gentle embrace of Helios
12OCT23 | THE RECKONING
It always comes; it may be sooner,
it may be later, but it always comes,
that moment of reckoning when you
realize you've gone and done the most
outrageous thing, the most irrational
and certainly the most irrevocable
thing; and when it's done and the
dust has settled, you look back over
the ruins and sit quietly with your
thoughts and simply acquiesce; and
then comes time for sadness and for
picking up the pieces and putting
whatever remains of your soul back
together again; but I don't take it as
a defeat, I look at how things came
to be, how the heart always seems to
mend itself (because the broken heart
always heals and learns to love again);
and what about K?; well, I suppose that
will remain unknown, the conundrum,
the piece of the puzzle a little Dandie
Dinmont Terrier scrambled away with
and dropped (unwittingly) in between
the sofa cushions not to be found for
years to come; (but we want to know
more about K!); okay, then I'll tell you,
but not now, only when the time is right
to do so will I reveal all that can be told
13OCT23 | MY LUCKY DAY (AND EGG DREAMS)
Fridays have always been what you
might call a lucky day for me; and
the number 13 has also been lucky;
and when those dreaded Friday the
13ths come around, I tend to relish
in the double luck and fortune I've
had on that particular day; and why
should today be any different?; I'm
hoping for a red-letter day; afterall,
I woke up from a dream about eggs
which quickly turned to thoughts of
K. and thinking quietly inside of my
head that this will be the day I finally
hear from her, the day she writes me
that one-word message (I'm guessing
an email)...YES!; and what happiness
that will bring on a day that is often
reserved for foreboding; on a day as
blustery, dark and rainy as today, the
sun will shine brightly in my heart;
and my daughter flies in today from
Valencia, meaning all of my daughters
will sleep under one roof tonight and
the serenity that brings has been long
desired; and what would K. say about
all these daughters? the thought of one
day being part of a family of all these
women? would she be indifferent or
enthralled by these four lovely young
women? perhaps even becoming their
friend, confidant or maybe (who knows)
their step-mother (it could happen!); but
however things turn out today, despite the
rain and wind and a million interpretations
of my egg dream, one thing is for certain: all
that's been set in motion will continue onward;
everything that has brought me to this moment
in time will converge and lift me to heights I've
only dreamed of; (yes, but please tell us more
about K!); that too will be revealed in due time
14OCT23 | EVERLASTING HOPE
She didn't write, she didn't call,
probably didn't think of me at all;
I checked my email three times an hour
even checked it while I was taking a shower;
I should have known better, but I never learn,
that matters of the heart are hard to discern;
they are quick to lead our fancies astray,
slow to wash the stain of heartache away;
but I blame myself for believing in fate,
never stopping for a moment to contemplate,
what others might think or need or feel,
too quick to let my thoughts be revealed;
and if only K. would have been the one,
melting storm clouds, bringing back the sun;
taking my hand and guiding me to the light,
turning all that's wrong into everything right;
I know deep down it was never meant to be,
nothing more than the illusion of possibility;
still, I will keep her in my thoughts and dreams,
with the everlasting hope that dreaming brings;
(but when, oh when, will you tell us about K?)
I promise I will tell you everything one day;
(you've been saying that forever, we must insist!)
all I can say for now is that she really does exist
15OCT23 | EVERY DAY THAT GOES BY
Every day that goes by is a day I could be loving you;
and being loved by you; every moment wasted is time
that we could be warm and secure in other’s embrace;
(we’ve come to some interesting conclusions about K.)
I see, please tell me what you have concluded; (we fear
she may have been hurt, scorned by a past romance); and
what could have led you to conclude that?; (she may be
afraid of getting hurt again); but I would never hurt her;
(what will her friends and family say about her being with
an older man?); what will they say when they see how very
happy and in love she is? How well she is being treated and
cared for and given the things that she has always deserved;
(well, what about her son? he may reject you, reject the idea
of another man in his life––in his mother's life; and what do
you know of the boy's father?); all good points, but what good
is it to rush toward darkness when the sun is just about to rise?
(you seem so confident...); cautiously, yes, but what if we simply
allow things to evolve on their own, in their own time and space?
there are more questions than answers, but I am sure of one thing:
every day that goes by is a day closer to spending my life with K.
16OCT23 | QUESTIONS & CONCERNS
(We have some questions about K.);
Alright, but please be brief, I have
work to do and cannot be hindered;
(we'd like to know what you would
think about some things); things?;
(does she smoke? eat meat? does
she have a temper? is she sloppy?
would she indulge your quirkiness?)
I think you're jumping the gun a bit;
(we're just thinking out loud, giving
you some food for thought); which is
duly noted and much appreciated; (so,
imagine, if you would, the two of you
are completely incompatible); I can
see where that might be a possibility,
but isn't that what this is all about, the
possibilities? and wouldn't it be utter
delight in discovering all that we may
have in common?; (it would be, indeed,
it would give us nothing but pleasure);
any more questions or concerns? (well,
since you've asked, will you tell her about
Natalia and the secret you've kept from
everyone for the past eighteen years?);
I don't see how that would interest her in
any way; (but would you tell her? confide
in her?); absolutely, without any hesitation;
(and what about Arnold? what about your
failed marriage and the estrangements and
other family complexities?); they happen
to everyone, my stories are no different or
more or less complex than the next person's;
(but what will K. think?); she'll think what
she thinks, and she'll ask questions if she
wants to know something and I'll be glad
to answer, honestly and straightforwardly;
(will you bring her flowers on Monday?);
I'm afraid I have an early start on Monday;
(but you work nights...); I open one Monday
morning a month, I'm saving for a rainy day;
(then all there is to do is wait, if that's all
you feel you can do right now); if I knew
what else to do, I'd be doing it; (then how
about getting some sleep and seeing what
tomorrow brings?); that's exactly what I'll
do, I'll fall asleep with her name upon my
lips and a prayer in my heart as I lay my
head down to sleep softly whispering...K.
17OCT23 | CALOGERO'S PARTY
(We've come up with a plan);
That sounds promising, do tell;
(you can invite K. to Calogero's
party this Saturday night); you
must be kidding; (do we look like
we're kidding?); and how do you
suppose that's going to work? (well,
you've been invited to a farewell party
for a former student)––who I now call
a friend––(who you now call a friend;
and he's moving away and throwing a
party and you've been invited and told
to bring a date); okay, I see where you're
coming from and I admit that sounds like
it could be promising, but just how do you
envision my actually inviting K. to come?
(we've thought of that); good, care to share?
(you can simply leave her a thoughtfully
penned handwritten invitation, she can't
refuse!): I wouldn't even know where to
leave it, and besides, I wouldn't want her
to get into any sort of trouble at work;
(fair enough; how about simply inviting
her here); here? (yes, here, in a poem, why
not this very poem?); and you really think
she'll ever see it? (we have a feeling she
will); that seems improbable (didn't you
say you believed in fate?); yes, but––
(then why not trust the universe and listen
to reason...); what more should I say...?
(you've said enough, actually; now make
a plan and write your instructions here...);
okay...Saturday evening, 21st...the party's
at Pandora Studios in Den Haag...starts at
6 p.m... (good, go on)... meet me at half
past five––(now say it so a European won't
misunderstand you); right, sorry, meet me
at 17:30 at the Elandstraat tram stop...I'll
be waiting there...and what happens if she
doesn't show up? (then you'll go to the
party alone as you were planning to do
all along); right, that's what I'll do; (and
you won't be sullen); I won't; (and you
will have a cracking good time and sing
the song you promised your host you'd sing);
I will, but the song will be sadder...(that's
okay, sad songs help to put life into better
perspective); yes, they sure do, don't they?
18OCT23 | FIRST DREAM
Knowing you, as I have, for this
short time, has made my life, my
existence, so much deeper; much
more intense and inspired; I even
had my first dream about you last
night; you only appeared in it for
a brief moment, but that was long
enough to feel your presence; you
jumped into my bed wearing sweats
and an oversized sweater; you didn't
look like the you I know; strange as
it may seen, you looked somewhat
like Linda Cardellini in her role as
Velma in the Scooby Doo movies,
with a short, pageboy haircut and
glasses; in my dream, your glasses
were round with flexible stems and
when I handed you my book to read
for the first time, you raised your legs
and supported them on the wall, took
off your glasses and began wiping the
lenses on your sweater; I took them and
removed a handkerchief from my pocket
to clean them properly, remembering I
actually had a microfiber cloth buried
a bit deeper in my pocket, so I removed
that and buffed your glasses clean while
you looked at me with a look that said
I'm falling in love with this man deeper
and deeper with every passing moment;
(so, you had a dream about K. but it was
really some movie star?); why do you ask
so many questions?; (it's the best way to get
answers!); I didn't say it was a movie star, I
only said that the vision of K. in the dream
didn't look like K.; (but you knew it was K?);
exactly; may I continue? (please do); now,
where was I?; (she was falling in love with
you deeper and deeper––); that's right, and
then I woke up; (that was the whole dream?);
I said it was a short dream; (you did, indeed);
but short or long, my visions of K. have now
carried over to my subconscious mind and I
feel that's the next step in the development of
the union that the universe is slowly, carefully
enkindling (that sounds deep); I know, but it's
within the depths that I am searching for signs
that K. is beginning to tune into my frequency
19OCT23 | IN LIMBO
That feeling of not feeling;
not knowing whether you're
here or there or somewhere
in between; in limbo, caught
up in a whirlwind of emotion
while being tossed about in a
ship that's lost its way far out
upon the open sea; the shore's
in sight, but there just doesn't
seem to be enough wind in the
sail to get me there; but like the
noble seaman who is fearlessly
prepared to go down with his
sinking ship, I remain perched
upon the bow as the sea spray
soaks me and the stinging salty
water interflows with tears as
I scream out at the top of my
lungs with the very last breath
I can muster up, calling out to K.
20OCT23 | AT THE DROP OF A HAT
I should get to know myself a little better;
well, I suppose you could say I've already
taken a step in that direction by signing up
to have an assessment early next year;
(we sense this might have something to
do with K.); well, not the assessment, I
have been on a waiting list for that for
more than six months, but what's on my
mind today definitely has something to
do with K. (go on, you have us intrigued);
well, I was sitting on the little white stool
drinking what was left of my morning cup
of coffee (with remnants of the croissant I'd
been dipping in it moments earlier); sitting
at the kitchen window looking out onto the
courtyard when I spotted a pigeon perched
upon a branch on the tree in Jansen's garden;
(who's Jansen?); oh, she's a neighbor, not
important; where was I? (the pigeon); yes,
the pigeon; so, I'm observing this pigeon
and another pigeon lands on the very same
branch a few inches away; I'm assuming
one of the pigeons is male and the other
female; and I got to thinking...I imagine
one of those pigeons was interested in the
other pigeon, probably with romantic intent;
(so, now you're an ornithologist...); no, just
making an observation; (which was?); which
was that it didn't appear the two were making
a love connection (remarked the ornithologist);
anyway, I got to thinking...apparently, people
who are neurodivergent tend to fall in love at
the drop of the hat, oftentimes feeling that they
have made a deep connection with the person
who they have fallen in love at first sight with;
so, it looks like this whole ordeal with K. isn't
a matter of the heart at all and is, in fact, a
matter of the mind; (now that didn't take an
ornithologist to figure out!); funny; so, here
I am, looking at pigeons out of my kitchen
window and thinking that all bets are off
21OCT23 | AN INCREDIBLE TWIST OF FATE
I was there (at the tram stop?); yes, at 17:30;
(and??); and I waited; and waited, and waited
in the unforgiving wind and stinging drizzle;
I waited; (and she never showed up); and she
never showed up; (that's a pity); no, that was
a godsend; (a godsend! after all that, all your
pleading, fantasizing and love-struckness?);
you wouldn't believe me if I told you (try us);
so, I waited and K. never showed up; and I
waited a little while longer (please, you're
killing us!); I waited a little while longer and
just as I stepped off of the tram stop platform
a voice called out to me; (K!); no; (then who?
and how??); here's the part you won't believe;
I didn't recognize her at first, she wore a hood
and all that was visible were here eyes, which
looked familiar but I couldn't quite place them;
she pushed back the hood and there she was...J.
(J! but who is J? and how do you explain this
chance meeting??); I knew J. some years ago,
and this was no chance meeting; she knew I
was going to be at that tram stop and at that
exact time; (but how?); she read about it...;
(read about it?); yes; (but where?); here, four
poems up; my entire plan, the itinerary, and
everything else; (everything else?); she read
all the poems about K., read them all and in
doing so––as she's telling me in the penetrating
drizzle––fell madly and deeply in love with me;
(but you said you knew this J...); I did, and not
getting into detail, it was ten years ago, in The
Hague; I was promoting local singer-songwriters;
organized two big music festivals and a couple of
whirlwind junkets to Liverpool to promote some
amazing Dutch talent; (and she was one of them?);
she was; and after the big fiasco of the festival's
second edition in 2014, I more or less dropped out
of sight from the music scene and lost touch with
most of the people I'd become friends with during
those glory days; but apparently J. has been keeping
up with my writing, which I told her I found hard to
believe, until she recited a short poem I had written
three years ago...and from memory!; (so, you've had
a secret admirer all along and didn't even know); well,
yes, and she never thought to make it known until now;
she read all about K. and read about Calogero's party
tonight and took a chance thinking, like some others,
that K. would probably never show up; (but this J. did);
yes, J. did; (and?); and we talked for a few minutes having
walked back onto the platform taking refuge from the rain
beneath the tram stop shelter; she asked me if I was still
planning to go to the party and if I was, could she come
along...as my date; and that's how it came to be, that J.
was the sunshine that dried up the rain, that all but cleared
away the cloudy skies that had distorted my longing and
where two hearts converged in an almost missed moment;
so, as one story ends, a new one begins, with wonder for
what the future may hold in store; and if I've learned one
thing from this, it's to take things slow and observe not only
the internal desires, but the marvels of what goes on everywhere
22OCT23 | AFTERMATH
It's calm; I'm fine; learning
to breathe again; on my own;
my breath, my rhythm, slowly,
calculated, in and hold, exhale;
it seems the voices in my head
have also melted away into thin
air; perhaps I breathed them away;
they were really nothing more than
spirit guides, leading me to some
or another truth; I won't miss them
but they'll be back, they always
come back; and in this aftermath
I'll try to recover the self that was
nearly lost, the part of me that was
overtaken by madness and malaise;
a fleeting moment in time when I
nearly let myself be swept away in
a flood of disorientation; a deluge of
complicated indiscernible notions that
had me gasping for every breath of air
23OCT23 | RELAPSE
I woke up this morning
with K. on my mind and
it took me completely by
surprise; and then I made
a plan of sorts; to go and
see her at work; bringing
flowers and what I would
try to proclaim as being a
sincere apology for acting
so selfishly, only thinking
about what I wanted and
not considering how she
might feel about it; but I
mulled it over for a few
minutes and decided not
to go (not today anyway);
I have a deadline to meet
and perhaps I need even
more time to decide if I
should seek closure or not
24OCT23 | FAT FACE
Milan came over to take
some pictures; I needed
a new photo to add to my
first Editor's Letter in the
magazine I was hired to
run this past summer; it
had been a while since I
have had my photo taken,
professionally, that is; the
experience was good and
Milan is an experienced
photographer who has a
razor-sharp wit and made
me feel at ease doing what
makes me feel most not at
ease; when he sent me the
contact sheet with a couple
dozen photos (of which I
had to choose one), I replied
saying the photos are great, I
hate every single one of them;
the photos did their worst in
highlighting all of my faults:
fat face, big head, double chin
and yellow teeth (all of which
I asked Milan to re-touch); the
fact of the matter is I have yet
to embrace aging, wondering,
almost daily, where the years
have gone and just how much
more I will be forced to endure;
did I mention that my knees hurt?
25OCT23 | SLOW RETREAT
It's been happening for a while,
the slow retreat; from people,
things, places and feelings; but
while there is movement, there
is also stillness, a softening of
the heart, serenity where before
I could barely escape the noise
and smoldering fires that had
become so commonplace and
dispiriting; but eventually the
dust settles, the smoke clears
away and the commotion dies
down; and like every autumn,
I watch as the leaves fall from
the trees outside my window;
but this will be last time I shall
observe them as they become
barren one final time; oftentimes
life is taken too quickly before we
ever have the chance to really live
26OCT23 | I WONDER
I wonder if seeing me
growing older makes
you sad or pensive or
unmoved to the reality
that I have, suddenly
it seems, become this
old man; I still find it
inconceivable that I'm
sixty; how and when
and why did this cruel
metamorphosis occur?
yes, they're rhetorical
questions but I am in
search of something so
much more than merely
empty rhetoric; I want to
know who you think I am,
what I mean to you and how
I can come to be what I've
never been able to be for you
27OCT23 | ALMOST
You're almost completely
a memory; I hardly think
about you anymore and
when I do, it only brings
sadness, sadness that I'd
rather live without; there
are moments when I can
recall the last time we
were together, but even
those recollections are
unreliable; I'm at ease
about how things have
turned out, I no longer
blame myself––or you
for that matter––about
anything as blame can
never return things to
the way they once were,
not that anything can or
ever will; that is our truth
28OCT23 | CATCHING UP WITH D.
It had been a while since last
catching up with D.; he looks
great, lost weight, happy with
semi-retired life, part-time gig
at the community college and
working on his Ph.D. while on
the mend from a rebuilt shoulder
and newly repaired left knee; he
cycles 20 miles a day and often
sits behind his drum kit bashing
away at some classic rock song;
his wife still works at the plant
and his daughters are grown and
have moved on, living their lives
happily, one has been cancer-free
(like her father) for years now and
the other a teacher (liker her father)
who is a foster parent to a nice young
man who has become the family's first
grandchild; nice catching up with D.
29OCT23 | MAYBE
Maybe I could have been more
of man had you not treated me
like a child; maybe I could have
been more leveled had you not
always reminded me that I was
mentally ill; maybe I could have
been more present if you hadn't
pushed me into a corner so you
wouldn't have to be accountable,
so you could shop to your heart's
content, fill our faces with every
kind of highly processed foods,
sugary treats and savory snacks;
maybe our daughters would be
better adjusted, more self-assured
and kinder had you been a beacon
of light rather than a dark spot that
has all but grown dim, casting a long
shadow over what once was, though
only for a fleeting moment, a family
30OCT23 | SAYING GOODBYE
The no parking signs have
been up for nearly a week
and early this morning all
of my neighbors flew from
their houses to move their
cars so they wouldn't get
towed away; the workers
arrived with their massive
machines and began cutting
down 46 trees that, on both
sides of the canal, line our
street and have provided me
with a great deal of comfort,
shade and beauty for the past
twelve years; they have been
there, season after after season,
like old friends who look after
you, look after your home and
your children as they make their
chalk drawings on the sidewalk;
and though new trees will soon
be planted in their place and our
quaint village street made anew,
these trees will never be forgotten
31OCT23 | IT IS GONE
There is a gaping void as I
look out of the window, the
trees are gone and daylight
floods in and I recall how
just a few hours before, I
was drawn to the window
by the sound of a whirring
chain saw; I stood there
weeping like a child as I
watched the first tree being
cut at the stump while the
ghastly claws of the loglifter
held the tree in its grasp then
setting it down on the street
so the arborist could take his
chainsaw slicing up the rest of
the trunk, cutting it down into
smaller, easier to manage pieces;
I went out for a few hours and
when I returned my tree was gone;
later, I went downstairs and took a
photo of the lonely trunk and I was
certain it felt my presence and knew
how sad I was to have lost such a
special part of the last dozen years of
my life; I started to walk away but I
stopped and turned around, bent over
the stump and picked up a branch that
had been left behind and a leaf that
was nearby; I took them in one hand
and touched the grainy wet surface of
the stump and smiled and went home
clutching my souvenirs tightly in my
hand; they would be the only remnants
of the tree that gave me so much for so
long and now I shall await the sapling