of days past

 
 
 
They were Republicans, Goldwater Republicans. 
He was really a libertarian, and enjoyed explaining why. 
She was a stay with our leader and prosperity
Eisenhower socially liberal wanna-be elite.
 
Broad labels to secure, to bind
little lives.  Little tribal rituals to cope through the
dinner parties, backyard barbeques.
 
It’s all about the vignettes, when no one’s watching.
The mind’s eye snaps a photograph,
pulls it out from time to time,
to remember
that we were
becoming
were believing and trying to understand
all the waves and illusions.
 
Something moves in my vision.
A wing, a wave of hair,
a blossom in the wind?
Something.
There is a wisdom and
a mystery.
There is more than meets the eye.
There is emotion,
brewing up a storm.
 
Glancing inward,
a girl curled up in a warm blanket
sips cocoa
watches the storm outside.
Affixed to the fascination
of the flame flashing,
of the wind wilding,
of the window between.
 
Days when all I can do is listen.
I have no words with which to speak.
There are days when the bubbling stew
speaks to me,
and the comfort
is all that I
can bear.
.
.
.
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