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More Poems From Glenn Currie

Sep 13, 2016 10:41AM ● Published by Kevin Boyarsky
The Cat

A cat waits by my door.
A visitor from the past,
Escaped from the mixing pot
Of watercolor memories.
He silently sits by the dish
Where pieces of my Mother’s garden
Come to rest.

He stares unblinking,
Seeing me as a child,
Remembering me from decades ago.
I had stroked him for luck,
And played with him on sunshine days
When we lived in the hour
And the certainty of tomorrow.

I buried him by a catnip bush
On a crimson, autumn afternoon.
A day when the wind
Persuaded the white oaks
To let their golden leaves fly.
When promises were made,
Then forgotten in the aging season.

Only the cat survived,
Finally working his way to the surface
Among remnants of the cardboard time capsule.
His green iris was reborn in the sunlight:
A tiny crystal ball
Telling me what he had learned
In my Mother’s garden.


The Song

A lone bird,
Resting in the arms
Of a tulip tree,
His song carried
Across glazed fields
And into the snowy wood.
I stood
At a stone wall
Between forest and farm,
And listened
To the simple notes
A sleeping world.


Closing up the House

The walls were wrinkled,
Filled with laugh lines
And the stains of tears.
Cracks leaked plaster
From a body worn.

It smelled of all of us,
A scent of life lived.
Children and Christmas trees,
Old magazines and dirty laundry,
Death and sex and dried flowers.

She sat on a pull-out bed,
Surrounded by the litter of years,
Age breaking the bargain
That keeps a house a home.
A caretaker ready to be a care taker.

The dust of living
Scurried across well-traveled floors,
Unnerved by strangers’ sudden movements.
Gathering in remote corners
As darkness settled in.


You can find Glenn’s collections of poetry and essays at Gibson’s Bookstore in Concord, MainStreet BookEnds in Warner, or at his website:

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