by Roxie Powell

These trees that still stand
tied to the land, their roots
deep and tangled in earth,
not unlike the tangle of cells
within the brain, our earth.
These trees allow me to breathe
unfettered by my need for a
semblance of poise
adopted to guard my grief.
For I am not so fettered to
the ground as trees, nor am
I able to create a cleansing air
like trees, whose roots go deep
within and whose branches
reach high above.
Something in the trees
among whom I walk
envelopes me step by step, until
slightly fresh, I begin to breathe
like the trees, deeper and deeper,
standing more firm, now, in the
ground of myself.

by Roxie Powell

Alone, on a distant street,
I feel the beat, where silentness
sweeps away time,
in time with my feet,
walking on a distant street.

There are shades at the windows
where children sleep.
Houses nuzzle one another
in coats of warmth, they
accompany me walking
on the street, alone with
the beat of silentness,
in time with my feet,
on a distant street.

by Roxie Powell

You held me once
An infant explosion . . .
I failed to explode.

You cajoled me into life,
I fizzled,
You held me, as though human
I might hold you also
I let go,
You remember touch,
I remember feel . . .
We expect so much,
especially when we kneel.

by Gerard Malanga

Xena! Xena!

I distinctly remember the first time
I set eyes on you
one mild October morning
as I was going about my ways,
whatever they were,
& I paused for one instant
overhearing someone attempting to dispose of you
& I turned & walked back
& this stranger asked me to hold you
& I held you
& it was love at first sight
like it’s done in the movies}
& in this movie of real life . . . It’s God’s way,
realizing you were extra–special
like no feline I’d ever encountered
& I was right
for the life we’d have ahead
& now it’s nearly 15 years.
It’s been a long life in many ways,
many montage,
many words written not written & vintage, even.
In many respects,
we’ve gone beyond those words lost to me now.
Words I can only guess at.
Your face aglow of the countless fade–outs & fade–ins.
Those late morning naps on the window sill
blessed with the sun’s warmth.
Those sleeping nites beside me
& waking me to the call of a new day.
“In the end, there is no end.”
I see a heart happy & a heart heavy & that is you.
I see a downward spiral.
A matter of 10–minutes, at the most.
Impossible to resist those memories returning, recurring,
less focused now. Diffused
& more diffused,
like the drifting snows,
leaves furling & unfurling.
Your kitten mischief. Your tyger tyger eyes.
How does one measure the ephemeral?
How does one stay in the present?
My watch telling me it’s 7:23 p.m.
Nothing is gone from you.

Adieu Xena, bonjour Xena.