faces watching

Posted on December 16, 2009 by riverwriter

As we sang, I could watch the faces watching us.
In their bathrobes, some in wheelchairs, most very old,
some watched intently, nodding to the familiar carols;
others, hardly aware of us, stared at children, invisible,
now replaced by familiar strangers who told the same story
fresh every day and showed pictures Continue reading →

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ragged ends

Posted on December 15, 2009 by riverwriter

After the meeting, I asked her how she was.
She looked well, after all; and it had been a year
since the funeral. The colour was back in her cheeks
and in her clothing, so I thought it was all right
to ask. She smiled and told me she had been
Christmas shopping in Montréal and
was having dinner with some friends that evening.
But as she turned away, Continue reading →

Posted in aging, Poetry, thoughts below ground | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

low gravity

Posted on December 14, 2009 by riverwriter

The children were outside discovering
what Northern children have learned
afresh after every snowfall: snow
creates low gravity. Any of them
could express the formula kinetically
by leaping onto a pile of the stuff:
the soft landing demonstrates Continue reading →

Posted in fun, Poetry, snow | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment