 |
| Deirdre (Lenihan Sloyan) graduated college in 1967 thinking she was taking a short leave from formal education. She pursued an acting career, had a family, volunteered at the schools, produced several plays, saw the children off to college, worked at the polls, took up art. Forty years flew by. She is delighted to be back in school and a part of the Mount Saint Mary's Humanities Graduate program. |
Yorick
I must seem a bit detached
(Busy, busy, hosting worms and maggots)
From my torso.
I was in fact a gamboling man,
A wag, a wit, a warbling wastrel, true.
But true, to your father.
Had I not been so impudent to prick
His pride, and he so imperious to bellow:
"Off with his head"
(A mere expression, but we were drunk, the axe too quick),
I could save him an earful of his brother.
It's all about you, now.
I can't hoist you on my back
And give you a view of this offal court.
It will be, messy
(I wish I could laugh).
You have a long haul, and none of it good.
Maybe, in the rocky future, we can
Share a pint of dust. For now:
Look at me.
Untitled Sestina
Atlanta's not so far away, we may
Decide to dine on Peachtree, or stay home
And make a sandwich out of crustless bread,
Some green tomatoes, mayonnaise, and salt.
Oh, either way is fine with me. A day
Will fritter by as sweetly here as there.
An orchard tops our latest plan, and there
We'll pluck ripe peaches from the boughs, and may
Well bake a savory pie! Although a day
Will come when even we will tire of home,
It won't be soon. Let's sprinkle garlic salt
On cousin Gertrude's soda bread.
Those years are gone. I have to earn my bread
And butter. Cities beckon. I am toiling there
Among the tower-dwellers throwing salt
To crack the winter ice, and then, come May,
Refitting ancient swamp fans. It's not home.
I miss the life of framing day by day.
I dream of buying back that house some day.
Have you forgotten how we let the bread
Rise up? And what a sorry lie: that "home
Is where the heart is"! No! My heart is there,
Athrob from room to room, and I just may
Fry up some collard greens with extra salt.
I teach. And I was wise enough to salt
Away a little money toward the day
That I retire. I promise you this May
We'll motor out and see who's baking bread
In our old house. And while we're there
We'll pick some blooms for Gertrude's grave, then home.
Did I say home? I've gone and made a home
Of city blocks and public parks. The salt
I use is substitute (for health), so there!
What else can I confess? There came a day
When I grew rather fond of store-bought bread.
I'd really rather see the coast this May.
Come make my house your home, old friend, and May
Old dreams of there be here with me. Our day
Has come to shed salt tears on phantom bread.
Luncheon
Headaches are inevitable, no wine, we'll have iced tea
And talk
(It will take longer to unwind)
About life.
Brushing the surface: The kids? The husbands?
How's obese Alyce and Claire de lunie?
O, we are funny gals,
And cruel.
More tea? Please.
Remember we spent hours in shops yes choosing necessities and whimsicals yes
It seemed so important!
We prefer clean lines now
Yes no clutter
You know what we are doing
Yes preparing.
More tea? Please.
Detachment's no match for disappointment;
Of course disappointment doesn't cut
Like cancer.
Hypochondria was a lousy talisman.
Yes we were issued sub-grade armor.
Do you wake up yes when the morning is still grainy
Yes, like old movie reels yes
And count how many years yes are left?