by Jayne Benjulian

Would Mother be young, standing in the middle
of Knight Street talking to Frances Druck?
The hem of her yellow apron ripples.
She looks back at the quiet house, the spot
where a child’s mouth fogs a circle
on the living room window. Did she say
take care of the children, the sentence blurred
to dust, like grey on a neglected table
the caretaker blows away. Atomized
in three directions. Call her back.
Once, she appeared in the silk of memory
waiting for our lives to begin. In the moment
the heart locks, I try a key, turning;
turning a tunnel at the end of our lives.

by Jayne Benjulian

           1

I left him once
when he disappeared for a day
I left him once
no one heard a word — he surfaced
later — what did he imagine —
time froze when he stepped off the earth.
I left him once.

           2

Then I asked him:
what rose up and what descended,
then I asked him
the definition of honor,
lie of omission, who are you
person with whom I am speaking?
Then I asked him.

           3

But it was not
the beginning, the beginning —
but it was not
all there was. There was a secret
soldered to our veins, a chill and
burning current, a child’s voice
but it was not.

by David Filer

Stayed up late last night,
   Thoughts in disarray.
Woke early this morning,
   thought of you all day.
I think something’s coming
   and it’s going to stay.
A little foolishness
   goes a long way.

I have the notion
   that one sun–blessed day,
we’ll head off to Paris,
   we’ll go all the way.
I think that day’s coming
   and it’ll be as they say.
A little foolishness
   travels a long way.

It’s April, cold wind
   and rain–heavy skies.
You’ve left, but I’m certain
   you’ll come back some day.
If real life isn’t working,
   I’ll make it up my way.
A little foolishness
   goes its own way.

I mowed both the lawns.
   It took me all day.
I know you’d have helped me,
   but you were far away.
Though I’m sure you’re coming,
   it never seems that way.
It takes some foolishness
   to keep my fear away.

by David Filer

it only fell
when it became too heavy

for the clouds to bear

            *
and then it had
no choice
                         gathering

where it fell
                         clinging

to anything it could

disappearing
when there was earth
to soak into

            *
someone likened it
to tears

but by then the clouds
had blown on beyond
the horizon

and sunlight reflected
off the wet streets

            *
in one part
of the country
it raised rivers above their banks

and there were
second thoughts

            *
but when a single
                         drop

fell from the blooming rose

everyone knew
it was a gift