I’ve gone ahead and moved forward in life with those I can.
But I still treasure the frozen-in-time memories of those who ran.

Today, I wished for something I know, at least for now, can never be.
She’s still young, so I have faith that one day she’ll reach out to me.

I see the resemblance in her fly-away hair and heart-shaped chin.
With tiny hands planted firmly on her hips, she’s my mighty munchkin.

Then I asked myself how many years it would take — nine or maybe ten.
Add them to my already ancient self; no respite for the unwitting tragedienne.

One day, you will wonder if I ever thought of you or who you were to me.
Every day, I think of you and curse the deliberate chopping down of our family tree.

The sunset

was in

front of me,

the airport

runway

to the left.

The wind blew

through my tightly

coiffed bun

as I drove with

the top down in

my electric blue

Karman Ghia.

I adored the car

but I hated that

it was his

absolution payoff

ensuring that I

would keep

my mouth shut.

At twenty, it was

the happiest day

of my life.

Free from all that

weighed me down.

Emancipated.

Liberated.

Extricated.

Free from him

at long last.

I knew you were running out of time,

and you knew it, too.

You always knew best.

You always knew everything.

The one who couldn’t read or write.

Your last words were well thought out.

A vision you foretold.

“Stay away from him.”

“He’s no good for you.”

“Walk away.”

Words of wisdom before

you closed your eyes

for the last time.

Should have, could have, would have.

But I didn’t.

Happy birthday, and RIP.

I’ll see you soon.

I see you in the majesty of the

star-dotted stratosphere.

And when the clouds darken

the ominous skies, I see you.

Amongst the trees

or the whispering wind,

or the fluttering of butterflies,

I see you.

When a young child flies by me on a bicycle

or chases after an errant ball;

I see you.

I once saw you on a train,

causing my broken heart to spasm

and spill out all over me.

I saw you just yesterday in the desert,

and in the bar having a cocktail.

And when that bucking Ibex

locked eyes with me,

yes, oh yes, it was you that I saw.

Every so often, I see you in the ocean.

Sometimes, the ocean is me—calm, and

tranquil until I see you, and then I am a

rip current, plunging under,

way, way out of reach.

I packed up the photos,

stored the first-place trophies,

and stashed away all that

would remind me.

But still, I see you.

A nonet starts with nine syllables.

The next line; it goes down to eight.

The longer the nonet goes,

the harder to make work.

Like life, I suppose.

It starts with birth

ends with death.

Make it

work.

The wind rustles

through the

Cypress trees,

while the

sparrows

perch

like Christmas

ornaments,

and

harmonize

in the

waning light.

It’s chilly

but I sit

and shiver,

grateful for

the symphony,

the lion

in plain sight.

I feel so much,

yet never enough.

I wonder

what they’re

doing,

and wait.

One treasured

photo of

wisping hair

on feathered lashes,

a curly cowlick,

and skin so fair.

And those

mischievous eyes

so diligently

fixed on the prize.

Soon she will eat cake.