Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Think… Maybe too tired to think; Could go into the kitchen; drink All bitter dark Deep-scented coffee brewing; Burbling sound Evoking stomach gurgle. Blink… Renewing secret longing, tells Of warming chocolate smell Smooth-flowing silver round the tongue; Silkily melts; Well-harbored scent belongs To sleep, Sweet-dreaming deep And dark Like coffee.

Your eyes Have watched, reminding me There was a time I thought I’d never need your Shining eyes There watching me. Your eyes Measured my weakest glance This happenstance Makes you seem ever-wise Wiser than me There watching me. Your eyes I cannot see through mine So I wear these.

“Are you sure you’ll manage?” she asks. I’m not exactly helpless. “I think I’ll cope.” She heads out the door. By the time she’s home I’ve shut the kids in their rooms, thrown toys across the floor, and broken the phone. She didn’t answer! “Couldn’t hear you in the store.”

D’you remember going on roller-coasters with me? ‘Member holding my hand? ‘Member holding me tight? D’you remember pretending your shirt wasn’t damp with my tears? D’you remember it Dad? D’you remember it right, ‘Cause you made me believe I was brave all those long years ago? I’m grateful, dear Dad.

Last time they played, Dave threw his cards across the room and walked out. Jess cried. The time before, Alex complained Dad only cared about winning. “Well, it’s a game; you’re meant to want to win.” But this time… “Hey guys; why you ganging up on me?” “It’s teamwork, Dad.”

Jen went donkey-riding. Mums and Dads laid towels on muddy beach to wait. Baby-Ann thought lumps of brown were peanuts; wanted to share. Mum said no. Tom wanted to marry Jen one day. “Not today.” It rained. Donkeys didn’t care. Tom found a diamond in the sand. Ten years later…

He comes home from work, so tired, can’t play. He’s fixing the yard, still can’t play. He’s counting finances, so tired, can’t play. He’s busy. There’s no time today. He comes home from school, so tired, can’t talk, From work, from his kids, from a walk; No time Dad today.

“Fathers’ Day,” said one. “Yup,” said the other. “You got kids?” “Two.” “See them?” “Nope.” “Want to see them?” “Wouldn’t want them to see me like this.” “Fathers’ Day,” said the assistant. “Happy Fathers’ Day to any dads out there.” They took their soup and rolls, saying, “Thank you, Son.”

When it was mothers’ day Dad sent him out to pick flowers. He brought her a bunch of dandelions, some bright like suns, some fluffy with white bobble-hats. When it was fathers’ day Mom send him out to pick flowers. But he brought back beetles, spiders, snails and a worm.

There’s a store in town prides itself on healthy, local, natural, what you really want to eat. They wanted gluten-free, lactose-free, vegetarian and not too spicy for Fathers’ Day. Amazingly enough they had plenty to choose from; mother and son now value this store as helpful, imaginative, interesting and delicious.

Beer, check; fresh-baked bread, check; French cheese, check; Danish pastries, check; Black Forest ham,; hummus, tapenade, green salad with strawberries; fresh-squeezed orange; fresh-whipped cream; fresh and delicious, she checks the items one by one from her list. Paper and pens and bright colored ink; “Let’s make a Fathers’ Day card.”

The old man lay in bed, young man by his side. “What you done with my wife?” “Nothing Grandpa. I came to see you for Father’s Day.” “Whose father? What you done with my son?” “Nothing Grandpa. I came to say hi.” “How high?” “High as heaven and loving you.”

The old man sat by the phone, tea-cup in saucer, dregs in cup, crumbs neatly gathered next to a drip on the plate. He sat with his eyes turned far away and listened to the sound of surf, of sand, of moving tanks, of war. Son doesn’t phone him anymore.

He phoned his wife from the airport. “I’m on my way home.” “See you tomorrow,” she said. His day was her night, his flight a whole life; then his phone beeped the magical words—Baby’s arrived! He phoned his wife when he landed, then rushed to see mother and child.

Mothers get breakfast in bed. Fathers get socks. Mothers get bunches of flowers. Fathers get ties. Mothers get boxes of chocolates. Fathers get socks. Mothers get beautiful scarves. Fathers get ties. Mothers get washing and cleaning. Fathers get socks. Mothers get cooking the dinner. Fathers get ties. Parents get love.

Stand still. He’s like a doll with painted smile and hair just so. Stand still. Ready for school, socks sliding down, aching to grow. Stand still. He spreads his wings and flies. Stand still. He graduates and smiles. Stand still. Son grown to father tells his own child wait awhile.

We’ve sailed the whole world over, haven’t found the rainbow’s end. We’ve ridden floods and tides and dreams. “My rainbow,” says God. “My sign.” It seems He loves us after all, calls us His children. I don’t know how you rebuild a world after flood but I know God does.

Mothers cried while children played and fathers killed the meat for sacrifice. Grandfather prayed. Saved, that’s what he said. Saved from wind, rain and flood. Saved from sinners who wouldn’t obey. Saved from… but saved for what? Mothers cried, wondering how to rebuild their lives. Fathers whispered, “We’ll be okay.”

Granddad keeps sending birds out—hunting for dry ground he says—but everywhere’s sea. My uncle says there’s some land over there. Mom says it’s got to be the top of a mountain after all this rain. There’s dead animals in the water—dinner maybe? Granddad says God says no.

Didn’t know in the end if it was wind, rain, or floods blew everything away. Friends, neighbors, crops and animals; all of it under the waves. Rolling clouds and sea like the world’s gone crazy, like God’s gonna blow us all away. Dad leads us in prayers, says we’re saved.

The river’s trickle looked more like a torrent this morning. Still too hot, crops burning, neighbors gathering water. Thick black clouds rolling to the west of us, like midnight. Wonder what’s coming. Shem’s Dad’s got this boat-thing in his yard, piling animals in, and seeds. Says we should come too.

Great-grandpa Methuselah was getting old—over a hundred; over a thousand I’m sure. Uncle Ham was seriously worried about the farm and the way it never rained; how it got so hot. The river was dry. We need some snowmelt from the mountains, said Granddad, then he built an ark.

It was dry when she sat there, green with spring’s promise, and he promised a picnic if she’d just wait for him. Just dashing to the car. And then it rained. She rather thinks he’s in the dry wondering why she doesn’t hurry to join him but water’s like crying.

“Come back.” He slipped away from me Small pest While others stood to be In photos Somehow always he An arm A leg perhaps must be In every photograph. My brother Getting married then My son Laughing escaped again The bride Welcomed her tiny friend But please… In every photograph?

Keeping open wary eyes to Watch the children’s next surprise you Find that sleep has conquered night’s few Moments and you dreamed you’d Share them with the one beside you But he’s dreaming too. Closing now those wary eyes you Dream the same as he and smile to Touch him.

My brother bought the records. Dad had the record-player. I wandered round the house trying not to be seen while I danced to the beat, feather duster in hand (I was helping Mum), and imagining… the handsome man, the music and the dream… “Who?” asked Mum. “Beatles.” “Beetles. Bugs. Junebugs.”

Parking-lot’s full of trucks. Cycle-rack’s full of bikes. Bar’s full of real men drinking real beer and telling real tales of real war. The old man nods his head, heart filled with memories of friends long gone—the sea reminds him how they died. Small girl says, “Come home Grandpa.”

“Daddy, I’m bored,” said the boy on the train. His father told him “Be quiet.” “Daddy, I’m bored,” said another boy. His father said “Read a book.” “Daddy, I’m bored,” said a third boy on the train. Putting his smart phone back in its case, this father said, “Let’s play.”

Father, tired from work, came home seeking the paper or TV away from others’ wants and needs; mother, weary from the day, kept kids out of his way, washed, played, fed, sent to bed, while words unsaid still festered in her head; till Dad came home and Mom was gone.

Where is Where am Where will be I? My fractured mind Derides The plan And time Decides The future. Am I real Or still Believable Or will I lose The way I sought To choose. I feel Deceived And plan To see To find Where minds And thoughts Can’t hide.

Hungry after the long cold winter, tired after sleep, and weary with the sodden leaves of fall still round his feet, he strolled into town. Panicked by the sight of him in the school-yard they called the police. Worried by their dart-guns he climbed a tree. Black bear in Portland. Based on a recent news story in the Oregonian.

Grandpop wore his Burberry coat. He told the children to be careful. “It’s my best coat, is this.” “But why’s it got bear berries on?” asked Sam. “What’s bear berries?” “Like when rabbits leave berries in the grass.” Grandpop took his Burberry coat off before any harm could be done.

Monday’s bear is soft and sweet Tuesday’s bear is tall and neat Wednesday’s bear likes honey to eat Thursday’s bear thinks chocolate’s a treat Friday’s bear is loving and giving Saturday’s bear plays games for a living And Sunday’s bear, white-dressed and bright Was baptized with baby, a heavenly sight.

She sat and muttered to herself on the shelf herself as others went by, bearing lives denied to her. Was she too old, too gray, too short, too fat? Were her eyes too bright? The seamstress sewed her hand to her mates and sold them as a pair—wedding-day bears.

Her cousin was dressed in communion-day white. Uncle wore Sunday best. Neighbors gathered to celebrate, sang prayers for the happy sight. Rumbling truck-wheels startled her. Squealing tires; rattling gun-fire; uncle fell in pool of flowing blood. She grabbed her cousin, white dress staining, strained to comfort her, offered a bear.

The ship was steely hope as soldiers boarded. “No more. No more,” officers ordered. “Hold firm. We’ll be back for sure.” War’s angry shots devoured; ship’s black hull blazed, blackened and sank. No more. Soldiers to prisoners to graves till only one remained, clutched ragged clothing like a teddy bear.

Ground shook as bombs rained down around. Fathers guarded the shelter door. Mothers hugged babies. Children struggled with homework by candle-light. At the all-clear they staggered out. Night shaded with smoke. Houses fallen. Flames and ash. A teddy-bear lay on the grass. Small child picked him up as she passed.