October

POEMOGRAPHY | 2023

Poems by R.M. Usatinsky

pōəˈmäɡrəfē, noun: form or process of writing and representing poetry

01OCT23 | SUKKOT

Shabbos dinner on the first

night of Sukkot; there's a

chill in the hut as the crisp

autumn air breaches the

thatched roof; we eat soup

and a variety of cold dishes

served in small plastic bowls:

egg salad, aubergine, hummus,

cole slaw (actually served in a

glass bowl); then meat is served

(which I do not eat) accompanied

by fried rice and a delicious kugel

made from pumpkin (I think I may

have overheard) that I ate about

four small servings of; the rabbi

poured vodka (which I passed

along to the Israeli gentleman sitting

to my left) and, after downing several

himself, the rabbi proceeded to tell

the longest story I had ever heard him

tell (in Dutch, to my chagrin) about,

I think, Chaim Yankel, who wasn't

able to find an etrog anywhere in his

small Russian shtetl; the story literally

went on for fifteen minutes (maybe more)

and when the punchline was finally given,

(I had already lost the thread by then) it

brought the house down; a massive fruit

plate was served from which I pulled off

a small bunch of green seedless grapes

(which were deliciously cold and sweet)

and a single, slightly tart raspberry; we

chanted the grace after meals and, like

we did last year, folded our folding chairs

and brought them into the rabbi's house; I

thanked my hosts and made my way home

02OCT23 | MESSY (FOR K.)

I like straight lines

and empty rooms

and the way your

smile makes time

stand still; your voice

and laugh remind me

of days gone by; the

childlike innocence

I oftentimes forget;

you have reminded

me of everything

that’s been missing

from my life; laughter

and love and wonder;

and when you softly

touched my face, I

knew those were the

hands I wanted to

hold while walking

down sandy beaches

and cobblestone streets

through whatever of life's

adventures that remain in

what little time we are all

given here in this short life;

hands to wipe the tears

away and hands that will

hold me as I pass from this

life to the next; I've never

been a big fan of messy;

I like tidy and order and

symmetry; but that only tells

half the story; I have junk

drawers and thirty boxes of

mementos, things I've kept

stored away and nearby for

the past forty years; and I've

always kept my underwear in

the top drawer (isn't that where

you're supposed to keep them?);

and I always put the toilet seat

down; and yes, there’s a verse

here with five lines as I have

broken with convention; it’s

to show you I’m not inflexible,

that within I have the power

and ability to fluctuate from

the predictable, to be fluid and

ever-changing; to be everything

you could ever want me to be

03OCT23 | K.

The first novel I ever read

(I mean really read) was

Kafka’s The Castle, written

in 1922 but left unfinished

as the author died some 17

months later; The Castle was

one of three books by Kafka

my grandfather had given me

days before I left for Spain in

the autumn of 1987; the novel's

protagonist, K., is an everyman,

frustrated by bureaucracy and

forsaken by his lover; I read the

novel during the first weeks after

arriving in Granada, where I had

to overcome the challenges of

settling in to a whole new world

and figure out how things worked

when I hardly new the language or

customs of how things were done;

and like K., I too was jilted by a

young woman who I had met at

a party on my first night in town

who seemed fascinated meeting

an American traveler and who,

while seeming to have fallen head

over heels for me, disappeared

after about a week, leaving me

nothing to remember her by except

for the small, square, quartz trinket

box she bought me at a stall in the

Alcaiceria, Granada's ancient silk

market; I lived in a small room in

a second-story building in a courtyard

owned by a wealthy woman named

María Dolores, who charged me the

equivalent of about ninety dollars a

month; I had about fifty possessions,

all housed in a shiny black steamer

trunk I purchased at an army-navy

surplus store in Chicago; my few

possessions were mostly clothes and

books, a walkman and a half dozen

cassette tapes and sundries; I also

had writing books and pens and a

somewhat inexpensive portable

electric typewriter I used to write

my first collection of poetry; now

I've recounted this story as sort of

a diversion; you see, I am in the

midst of pursuing (dare I say it)

a love interest, a woman whose

acquaintance I have recently made

and who I have, by means of a rather

pale shadow of an attempt of penning

a love letter, professed my being

charmed by; and I'm hiding that very

declaration here, buried well within

the depths of this long-winded soliloquy

so that if indeed her eyes ever come upon

these words, she will surely have no choice

other than to fall madly in love with me (at

least that is my romantic notion of how I'd

like to see things turn out in the end); until

then I will simply ponder all the possibilities,

all that could become of this, the wonderment

and splendor of discovering the brightest star in

the night sky, the one that leads me home at last

04OCT23 | I THOUGHT OF YOU

I thought of you as I drifted off to

sleep last night and I thought of

you as the first light of morning

slowly crept into my bedroom;

I thought of you as I prepared my

eggs for breakfast and wondered

how you liked your eggs (maybe

you don't even like eggs), but I

couldn't help lose myself in the

moment and dream of making

you breakfast and sitting at the

kitchen table with you every

morning drinking coffee, talking

about our plans, our children, our

dreams and visions and how the

universe blessed us with each other;

I'm thinking about you right now

as I write these words with a heart

filled with hope, filled with desire

and filled with exuberant delight

05OCT23 | SHADOWS

I thought I saw you

outside my shop window

standing in the shadows

beneath the leafy trees

in the square where the

lady sits on the bench;

I squinted through the

reflection of glare as I

stood there in silence

momentarily blinded by

the fear and excitement

of not knowing whether

my eyes were playing

tricks on me or if it was

merely the illusion of want,

my imagination conjuring up

the story of you putting your

son to bed and leaving him in

the care of a neighbor then

waiting for me in the shadows

06OCT23 | THE WIDOW'S HOUSE

I was riding the number one tram

when midnight struck and I had

just made a few notes on my phone

about the new love poem I was

going to write for you as soon as I

walked in the door; but when I got

off the tram and crossed the street

and walked by the widow's house,

as I do every worknight, the lights

were on in the frontroom and I saw

the widow sitting close to her young

daughter whose face was pressed

into her hands as she appeared to be

lost in some great outward expression

of grief, more than likely something

or another to do with the death of her

father, who passed away early last year

and who was just a few years older than

me; I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed

with a deep sense of sadness and pity for

the young woman and could barely contain

my own tears; it happens that I knew the

man and had met him once; he was a bow

tie wearer and then, a few years ago at

Christmastime, I packed up a few of my

bow ties and deposited them in his mailbox,

though I never did get a note of thanks or

acknowledgement of having received my

gift; and I had crossed paths with the widow

on a few occasions as the births of our two

youngest daughters were around the same

time and she had been going to the same

midwife; I spoke to her once, mentioning

that we had met some years earlier at a

social affair; by the time I turned the corner

I could no longer refrain from crying and

a burst of tears exploded from my eyes and

I found myself gasping for air and hoping

that no one would see me; then I realized I

rarely see anyone in the streets that late

at night and I wondered if perhaps the

world hadn't simply ended while I wasn't

looking and all that remained was the partial

moon, glowing through the autumn clouds

and the most profound sadness I have felt in

a very long time; but the sadness soon gave

way to another realization, that my very spirit

was being eaten away by loneliness; that unlike

the widow's daughter, I had no one to console

me, no shoulder to cry on; and that also made

me wonder who, if anyone, will cry for me

when I leave this place; who will sit inconsolable,

crying with their face pressed deeply into the

palms of their hands? who will mourn me and

who will write the story of my life just as the

widow did to pay homage to her beloved?

the moon is fully enveloped by the clouds

now, all that remains is a fading halo of

light that serves to remind me that, even

though I can not see it, the moon is still

there, full and large and illuminated by

the light of the sun; and while I can't see

you, you have become the halo of light that

reminds me there is even light in the darkness

07OCT23 | WONDERING WHAT'S NEXT

I'm an eternal optimist

and I was betting that

I'd hear from you this

week; and when I didn't,

I managed to convince

myself it was because you

were simply too busy with

work and raising a young

boy––which are completely

understandable––that I set

my sights on the weekend,

thinking you wanted to give

it some time, time to think

things over and not rush into

it and seem––though I would

never think so––overly zealous;

it's been five days and I must

admit I'm thinking about what's

next, what my next move might be

and how much courage I have left

08OCT23 | A POEM FOR K. (AND FOR K. ONLY)

This is a poem for K.;

if you are not K., please

withdraw your eyes from

this page and kindly return

tomorrow when the banter you

are accustomed to will return to

its everyday regularity; (thank you)...

Dear K., I can count on one hand all

of the times I have been captivated by the

allure of a woman; it has happened so very

infrequently during the course of my life that

when it does happen, there is simply no denying

it; now that we're here alone, just the two of us, I

thought it would be a good time to tell you a little

about myself; though strangely as it may sound,

you probably already know quite a lot about

me as I've been often told I'm a fairly easy

book to read and more or less a what you

see is what you get kinda guy; not many

surprises and even fewer skeletons in

my closet; I don't drink or smoke or

partake in recreational drug use (I

never have and never will); I've

been known to belch and fart

and swear and occasionally

I catch myself drooling on

my pillow, but not rudely,

and I consider myself a

gentleman and a very

devoted and loyal

family man with

five children;

I talk and listen;

I cry and laugh;

and I'll always

treat you with

respect and in

all the ways a

man should treat

a woman as lovely

and deserving as you;

so, here's my proposal...

why don't you book in at

the barbershop one evening;

come and sit in my chair and,

just as I do with my customers, we

can have a friendly chat (I imagine

I can't interest you in a haircut, shave

or beard trim!); the appointment is only

45 minutes and then you can be on your way

(hopefully you won't leave an unfavorable review!);

I'm at your service and hope you'll consider my proposal;

and I'll warn you, once you give me those forty-five minutes,

you'll find it hard––impossible maybe––to not want to come

again, as my retention rate is well over 75% (not bad for a

blabbermouth who only gives a mediocre haircut); but one

thing I can promise you (maybe two things, or three) is

that whatever happens, I know we'll both be glad we

took the leap of faith, had the courage, strength and

confidence to believe in fate...and in each other;

so, I'll wait and I'll hope (I might even pray a

little) that someday, perhaps even one day

soon, I'll get a notification of a booking

from a familiar name, someone simply

named K. who booked in the last

appointment of the night and

who didn't come for a cut or

a shave, but simply to see

me and talk to me and

maybe even ask me

a million questions

about this and that

and tell me about

all the things that

matter the most

in her life

09OCT23 | IMMORTAL TOUCH

I have found the fountain of youth

and it’s in your touch, in your hands

and fingertips, your arms and wrists;

you touched me and I was re-born

and now I find I can't live another

day without you; our time together

was ever so fleeting, but you gave

me a renewed sense of courage, a

reason to have a higher purpose; a

new perspective and a feeling that

I could do anything, accomplish

anything, achieve what has always

eluded me; my heart has been born

anew, you have given me the greatest

gift of all, your immortal touch that

has thwarted my demise and returned

the air to my lungs and has sent the

blood rushing through my veins; you

are the life force, the source of my

resurrection, my breath and being

10OCT23 | SLIPPING

Maybe I’m slipping in my old age;

perhaps my intuition isn’t as keen

as it once was and maybe I just

don’t have what it takes anymore;

what I do have is resilience and

infinite patience, so if that’s what

it takes I’m prepared to wait; and

that reminds me of a story that

one of the protagonists, Alfredo,

in one of my favorite films of all

time, Cinema Paradiso, told to

his young friend Toto, who was

hopelessly in love with Elena, the

banker’s lovely daughter; Alfredo

tells the story of a soldier who fell

in love with the king’s daughter, he

knew she would never have feelings

for a humble soldier but he professed

his love and the princess told the

soldier that if he waited under her

balcony for one hundred days and

one hundred nights, she would be

his; the soldier waited, day after day,

night after night enduring the harsh

elements, bee stings, birds shitting

on his head, but he remained as the

princess would watch from her window

above; then, on the 99th day, the soldier,

downtrodden, weak and with tears in his

eyes, simply walked away; in the film,

Toto asks Alfredo what the story means,

Alfredo looks at his young friend and

simply says, I don't have any idea; and

why did I find it so important to retell

that story here and now? well, I must

confess that I don't have any idea

11OCT23 | WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

What would you do if you were me?

falling in love with a stranger, a person

you hardly knew; well, if you were me,

you'd write love poems and love songs,

send love letters and day-old roses and

conjure up a million and one scenarios

about how this will become one of the

greatest love stories ever written; one

told and re-told for generations to come

by those who believed in love's power,

in what love once meant, so many, many

years ago; and what would you do if the

wind whispered my name into your ear?

or if the sun's rays etched my face upon

your heart; or if the sea promised you'd

never cry another tear of anguish, that

her waters would hold back the deluge

of sadness and you would be cast out

upon dry land, held safe forevermore

in the warm, gentle embrace of Helios

12OCT23 | THE RECKONING

It always comes; it may be sooner,

it may be later, but it always comes,

that moment of reckoning when you

realize you've gone and done the most

outrageous thing, the most irrational

and certainly the most irrevocable

thing; and when it's done and the

dust has settled, you look back over

the ruins and sit quietly with your

thoughts and simply acquiesce; and

then comes time for sadness and for

picking up the pieces and putting

whatever remains of your soul back

together again; but I don't take it as

a defeat, I look at how things came

to be, how the heart always seems to

mend itself (because the broken heart

always heals and learns to love again);

and what about K?; well, I suppose that

will remain unknown, the conundrum,

the piece of the puzzle a little Dandie

Dinmont Terrier scrambled away with

and dropped (unwittingly) in between

the sofa cushions not to be found for

years to come; (but we want to know

more about K!); okay, then I'll tell you,

but not now, only when the time is right

to do so will I reveal all that can be told

13OCT23 | MY LUCKY DAY (AND EGG DREAMS)

Fridays have always been what you

might call a lucky day for me; and

the number 13 has also been lucky;

and when those dreaded Friday the

13ths come around, I tend to relish

in the double luck and fortune I've

had on that particular day; and why

should today be any different?; I'm

hoping for a red-letter day; afterall,

I woke up from a dream about eggs

which quickly turned to thoughts of

K. and thinking quietly inside of my

head that this will be the day I finally

hear from her, the day she writes me

that one-word message (I'm guessing

an email)...YES!; and what happiness

that will bring on a day that is often

reserved for foreboding; on a day as

blustery, dark and rainy as today, the

sun will shine brightly in my heart;

and my daughter flies in today from

Valencia, meaning all of my daughters

will sleep under one roof tonight and

the serenity that brings has been long

desired; and what would K. say about

all these daughters? the thought of one

day being part of a family of all these

women? would she be indifferent or

enthralled by these four lovely young

women? perhaps even becoming their

friend, confidant or maybe (who knows)

their step-mother (it could happen!); but

however things turn out today, despite the

rain and wind and a million interpretations

of my egg dream, one thing is for certain: all

that's been set in motion will continue onward;

everything that has brought me to this moment

in time will converge and lift me to heights I've

only dreamed of; (yes, but please tell us more

about K!); that too will be revealed in due time

14OCT23 | EVERLASTING HOPE

She didn't write, she didn't call,

probably didn't think of me at all;

I checked my email three times an hour

even checked it while I was taking a shower;

I should have known better, but I never learn,

that matters of the heart are hard to discern;

they are quick to lead our fancies astray,

slow to wash the stain of heartache away;

but I blame myself for believing in fate,

never stopping for a moment to contemplate,

what others might think or need or feel,

too quick to let my thoughts be revealed;

and if only K. would have been the one,

melting storm clouds, bringing back the sun;

taking my hand and guiding me to the light,

turning all that's wrong into everything right;

I know deep down it was never meant to be,

nothing more than the illusion of possibility;

still, I will keep her in my thoughts and dreams,

with the everlasting hope that dreaming brings;

(but when, oh when, will you tell us about K?)

I promise I will tell you everything one day;

(you've been saying that forever, we must insist!)

all I can say for now is that she really does exist

15OCT23 | EVERY DAY THAT GOES BY

Every day that goes by is a day I could be loving you;

and being loved by you; every moment wasted is time

that we could be warm and secure in other’s embrace;

(we’ve come to some interesting conclusions about K.)

I see, please tell me what you have concluded; (we fear

she may have been hurt, scorned by a past romance); and

what could have led you to conclude that?; (she may be

afraid of getting hurt again); but I would never hurt her;

(what will her friends and family say about her being with

an older man?); what will they say when they see how very

happy and in love she is? How well she is being treated and

cared for and given the things that she has always deserved;

(well, what about her son? he may reject you, reject the idea

of another man in his life––in his mother's life; and what do

you know of the boy's father?); all good points, but what good

is it to rush toward darkness when the sun is just about to rise?

(you seem so confident...); cautiously, yes, but what if we simply

allow things to evolve on their own, in their own time and space?

there are more questions than answers, but I am sure of one thing:

every day that goes by is a day closer to spending my life with K.

16OCT23 | QUESTIONS & CONCERNS

(We have some questions about K.);

Alright, but please be brief, I have

work to do and cannot be hindered;

(we'd like to know what you would

think about some things); things?;

(does she smoke? eat meat? does

she have a temper? is she sloppy?

would she indulge your quirkiness?)

I think you're jumping the gun a bit;

(we're just thinking out loud, giving

you some food for thought); which is

duly noted and much appreciated; (so,

imagine, if you would, the two of you

are completely incompatible); I can

see where that might be a possibility,

but isn't that what this is all about, the

possibilities? and wouldn't it be utter

delight in discovering all that we may

have in common?; (it would be, indeed,

it would give us nothing but pleasure);

any more questions or concerns? (well,

since you've asked, will you tell her about

Natalia and the secret you've kept from

everyone for the past eighteen years?);

I don't see how that would interest her in

any way; (but would you tell her? confide

in her?); absolutely, without any hesitation;

(and what about Arnold? what about your

failed marriage and the estrangements and

other family complexities?); they happen

to everyone, my stories are no different or

more or less complex than the next person's;

(but what will K. think?); she'll think what

she thinks, and she'll ask questions if she

wants to know something and I'll be glad

to answer, honestly and straightforwardly;

(will you bring her flowers on Monday?);

I'm afraid I have an early start on Monday;

(but you work nights...); I open one Monday

morning a month, I'm saving for a rainy day;

(then all there is to do is wait, if that's all

you feel you can do right now); if I knew

what else to do, I'd be doing it; (then how

about getting some sleep and seeing what

tomorrow brings?); that's exactly what I'll

do, I'll fall asleep with her name upon my

lips and a prayer in my heart as I lay my

head down to sleep softly whispering...K.

17OCT23 | CALOGERO'S PARTY

(We've come up with a plan);

That sounds promising, do tell;

(you can invite K. to Calogero's

party this Saturday night); you

must be kidding; (do we look like

we're kidding?); and how do you

suppose that's going to work? (well,

you've been invited to a farewell party

for a former student)––who I now call

a friend––(who you now call a friend;

and he's moving away and throwing a

party and you've been invited and told

to bring a date); okay, I see where you're

coming from and I admit that sounds like

it could be promising, but just how do you

envision my actually inviting K. to come?

(we've thought of that); good, care to share?

(you can simply leave her a thoughtfully

penned handwritten invitation, she can't

refuse!): I wouldn't even know where to

leave it, and besides, I wouldn't want her

to get into any sort of trouble at work;

(fair enough; how about simply inviting

her here); here? (yes, here, in a poem, why

not this very poem?); and you really think

she'll ever see it? (we have a feeling she

will); that seems improbable (didn't you

say you believed in fate?); yes, but––

(then why not trust the universe and listen

to reason...); what more should I say...?

(you've said enough, actually; now make

a plan and write your instructions here...);

okay...Saturday evening, 21st...the party's

at Pandora Studios in Den Haag...starts at

6 p.m... (good, go on)... meet me at half

past five––(now say it so a European won't

misunderstand you); right, sorry, meet me

at 17:30 at the Elandstraat tram stop...I'll

be waiting there...and what happens if she

doesn't show up? (then you'll go to the

party alone as you were planning to do

all along); right, that's what I'll do; (and

you won't be sullen); I won't; (and you

will have a cracking good time and sing

the song you promised your host you'd sing);

I will, but the song will be sadder...(that's

okay, sad songs help to put life into better

perspective); yes, they sure do, don't they?

18OCT23 | FIRST DREAM

Knowing you, as I have, for this

short time, has made my life, my

existence, so much deeper; much

more intense and inspired; I even

had my first dream about you last

night; you only appeared in it for

a brief moment, but that was long

enough to feel your presence; you

jumped into my bed wearing sweats

and an oversized sweater; you didn't

look like the you I know; strange as

it may seen, you looked somewhat

like Linda Cardellini in her role as

Velma in the Scooby Doo movies,

with a short, pageboy haircut and

glasses; in my dream, your glasses

were round with flexible stems and

when I handed you my book to read

for the first time, you raised your legs

and supported them on the wall, took

off your glasses and began wiping the

lenses on your sweater; I took them and

removed a handkerchief from my pocket

to clean them properly, remembering I

actually had a microfiber cloth buried

a bit deeper in my pocket, so I removed

that and buffed your glasses clean while

you looked at me with a look that said

I'm falling in love with this man deeper

and deeper with every passing moment;

(so, you had a dream about K. but it was

really some movie star?); why do you ask

so many questions?; (it's the best way to get

answers!); I didn't say it was a movie star, I

only said that the vision of K. in the dream

didn't look like K.; (but you knew it was K?);

exactly; may I continue? (please do); now,

where was I?; (she was falling in love with

you deeper and deeper––); that's right, and

then I woke up; (that was the whole dream?);

I said it was a short dream; (you did, indeed);

but short or long, my visions of K. have now

carried over to my subconscious mind and I

feel that's the next step in the development of

the union that the universe is slowly, carefully

enkindling (that sounds deep); I know, but it's

within the depths that I am searching for signs

that K. is beginning to tune into my frequency

19OCT23 | IN LIMBO

That feeling of not feeling;

not knowing whether you're

here or there or somewhere

in between; in limbo, caught

up in a whirlwind of emotion

while being tossed about in a

ship that's lost its way far out

upon the open sea; the shore's

in sight, but there just doesn't

seem to be enough wind in the

sail to get me there; but like the

noble seaman who is fearlessly

prepared to go down with his

sinking ship, I remain perched

upon the bow as the sea spray

soaks me and the stinging salty

water interflows with tears as

I scream out at the top of my

lungs with the very last breath

I can muster up, calling out to K.

20OCT23 | AT THE DROP OF A HAT

I should get to know myself a little better;

well, I suppose you could say I've already

taken a step in that direction by signing up

to have an assessment early next year;

(we sense this might have something to

do with K.); well, not the assessment, I

have been on a waiting list for that for

more than six months, but what's on my

mind today definitely has something to

do with K. (go on, you have us intrigued);

well, I was sitting on the little white stool

drinking what was left of my morning cup

of coffee (with remnants of the croissant I'd

been dipping in it moments earlier); sitting

at the kitchen window looking out onto the

courtyard when I spotted a pigeon perched

upon a branch on the tree in Jansen's garden;

(who's Jansen?); oh, she's a neighbor, not

important; where was I? (the pigeon); yes,

the pigeon; so, I'm observing this pigeon

and another pigeon lands on the very same

branch a few inches away; I'm assuming

one of the pigeons is male and the other

female; and I got to thinking...I imagine

one of those pigeons was interested in the

other pigeon, probably with romantic intent;

(so, now you're an ornithologist...); no, just

making an observation; (which was?); which

was that it didn't appear the two were making

a love connection (remarked the ornithologist);

anyway, I got to thinking...apparently, people

who are neurodivergent tend to fall in love at

the drop of the hat, oftentimes feeling that they

have made a deep connection with the person

who they have fallen in love at first sight with;

so, it looks like this whole ordeal with K. isn't

a matter of the heart at all and is, in fact, a

matter of the mind; (now that didn't take an

ornithologist to figure out!); funny; so, here

I am, looking at pigeons out of my kitchen

window and thinking that all bets are off

21OCT23 | AN INCREDIBLE TWIST OF FATE

I was there (at the tram stop?); yes, at 17:30;

(and??); and I waited; and waited, and waited

in the unforgiving wind and stinging drizzle;

I waited; (and she never showed up); and she

never showed up; (that's a pity); no, that was

a godsend; (a godsend! after all that, all your

pleading, fantasizing and love-struckness?);

you wouldn't believe me if I told you (try us);

so, I waited and K. never showed up; and I

waited a little while longer (please, you're

killing us!); I waited a little while longer and

just as I stepped off of the tram stop platform

a voice called out to me; (K!); no; (then who?

and how??); here's the part you won't believe;

I didn't recognize her at first, she wore a hood

and all that was visible were here eyes, which

looked familiar but I couldn't quite place them;

she pushed back the hood and there she was...J.

(J! but who is J? and how do you explain this

chance meeting??); I knew J. some years ago,

and this was no chance meeting; she knew I

was going to be at that tram stop and at that

exact time; (but how?); she read about it...;

(read about it?); yes; (but where?); here, four

poems up; my entire plan, the itinerary, and

everything else; (everything else?); she read

all the poems about K., read them all and in

doing so––as she's telling me in the penetrating

drizzle––fell madly and deeply in love with me;

(but you said you knew this J...); I did, and not

getting into detail, it was ten years ago, in The

Hague; I was promoting local singer-songwriters;

organized two big music festivals and a couple of

whirlwind junkets to Liverpool to promote some

amazing Dutch talent; (and she was one of them?);

she was; and after the big fiasco of the festival's

second edition in 2014, I more or less dropped out

of sight from the music scene and lost touch with

most of the people I'd become friends with during

those glory days; but apparently J. has been keeping

up with my writing, which I told her I found hard to

believe, until she recited a short poem I had written

three years ago...and from memory!; (so, you've had

a secret admirer all along and didn't even know); well,

yes, and she never thought to make it known until now;

she read all about K. and read about Calogero's party

tonight and took a chance thinking, like some others,

that K. would probably never show up; (but this J. did);

yes, J. did; (and?); and we talked for a few minutes having

walked back onto the platform taking refuge from the rain

beneath the tram stop shelter; she asked me if I was still

planning to go to the party and if I was, could she come

along...as my date; and that's how it came to be, that J.

was the sunshine that dried up the rain, that all but cleared

away the cloudy skies that had distorted my longing and

where two hearts converged in an almost missed moment;

so, as one story ends, a new one begins, with wonder for

what the future may hold in store; and if I've learned one

thing from this, it's to take things slow and observe not only

the internal desires, but the marvels of what goes on everywhere

22OCT23 | AFTERMATH

It's calm; I'm fine; learning

to breathe again; on my own;

my breath, my rhythm, slowly,

calculated, in and hold, exhale;

it seems the voices in my head

have also melted away into thin

air; perhaps I breathed them away;

they were really nothing more than

spirit guides, leading me to some

or another truth; I won't miss them

but they'll be back, they always

come back; and in this aftermath

I'll try to recover the self that was

nearly lost, the part of me that was

overtaken by madness and malaise;

a fleeting moment in time when I

nearly let myself be swept away in

a flood of disorientation; a deluge of

complicated indiscernible notions that

had me gasping for every breath of air

23OCT23 | RELAPSE

I woke up this morning

with K. on my mind and

it took me completely by

surprise; and then I made

a plan of sorts; to go and

see her at work; bringing

flowers and what I would

try to proclaim as being a

sincere apology for acting

so selfishly, only thinking

about what I wanted and

not considering how she

might feel about it; but I

mulled it over for a few

minutes and decided not

to go (not today anyway);

I have a deadline to meet

and perhaps I need even

more time to decide if I

should seek closure or not

24OCT23 | FAT FACE

Milan came over to take

some pictures; I needed

a new photo to add to my

first Editor's Letter in the

magazine I was hired to

run this past summer; it

had been a while since I

have had my photo taken,

professionally, that is; the

experience was good and

Milan is an experienced

photographer who has a

razor-sharp wit and made

me feel at ease doing what

makes me feel most not at

ease; when he sent me the

contact sheet with a couple

dozen photos (of which I

had to choose one), I replied

saying the photos are great, I

hate every single one of them;

the photos did their worst in

highlighting all of my faults:

fat face, big head, double chin

and yellow teeth (all of which

I asked Milan to re-touch); the

fact of the matter is I have yet

to embrace aging, wondering,

almost daily, where the years

have gone and just how much

more I will be forced to endure;

did I mention that my knees hurt?

25OCT23 | SLOW RETREAT

It's been happening for a while,

the slow retreat; from people,

things, places and feelings; but

while there is movement, there

is also stillness, a softening of

the heart, serenity where before

I could barely escape the noise

and smoldering fires that had

become so commonplace and

dispiriting; but eventually the

dust settles, the smoke clears

away and the commotion dies

down; and like every autumn,

I watch as the leaves fall from

the trees outside my window;

but this will be last time I shall

observe them as they become

barren one final time; oftentimes

life is taken too quickly before we

ever have the chance to really live

26OCT23 | I WONDER

I wonder if seeing me

growing older makes

you sad or pensive or

unmoved to the reality

that I have, suddenly

it seems, become this

old man; I still find it

inconceivable that I'm

sixty; how and when

and why did this cruel

metamorphosis occur?

yes, they're rhetorical

questions but I am in

search of something so

much more than merely

empty rhetoric; I want to

know who you think I am,

what I mean to you and how

I can come to be what I've

never been able to be for you

27OCT23 | ALMOST

You're almost completely

a memory; I hardly think

about you anymore and

when I do, it only brings

sadness, sadness that I'd

rather live without; there

are moments when I can

recall the last time we

were together, but even

those recollections are

unreliable; I'm at ease

about how things have

turned out, I no longer

blame myself––or you

for that matter––about

anything as blame can

never return things to

the way they once were,

not that anything can or

ever will; that is our truth

28OCT23 | CATCHING UP WITH D.

It had been a while since last

catching up with D.; he looks

great, lost weight, happy with

semi-retired life, part-time gig

at the community college and

working on his Ph.D. while on

the mend from a rebuilt shoulder

and newly repaired left knee; he

cycles 20 miles a day and often

sits behind his drum kit bashing

away at some classic rock song;

his wife still works at the plant

and his daughters are grown and

have moved on, living their lives

happily, one has been cancer-free

(like her father) for years now and

the other a teacher (liker her father)

who is a foster parent to a nice young

man who has become the family's first

grandchild; nice catching up with D.

29OCT23 | MAYBE

Maybe I could have been more

of man had you not treated me

like a child; maybe I could have

been more leveled had you not

always reminded me that I was

mentally ill; maybe I could have

been more present if you hadn't

pushed me into a corner so you

wouldn't have to be accountable,

so you could shop to your heart's

content, fill our faces with every

kind of highly processed foods,

sugary treats and savory snacks;

maybe our daughters would be

better adjusted, more self-assured

and kinder had you been a beacon

of light rather than a dark spot that

has all but grown dim, casting a long

shadow over what once was, though

only for a fleeting moment, a family

30OCT23 | SAYING GOODBYE

The no parking signs have

been up for nearly a week

and early this morning all

of my neighbors flew from

their houses to move their

cars so they wouldn't get

towed away; the workers

arrived with their massive

machines and began cutting

down 46 trees that, on both

sides of the canal, line our

street and have provided me

with a great deal of comfort,

shade and beauty for the past

twelve years; they have been

there, season after after season,

like old friends who look after

you, look after your home and

your children as they make their

chalk drawings on the sidewalk;

and though new trees will soon

be planted in their place and our

quaint village street made anew,

these trees will never be forgotten

31OCT23 | IT IS GONE

There is a gaping void as I

look out of the window, the

trees are gone and daylight

floods in and I recall how

just a few hours before, I

was drawn to the window

by the sound of a whirring

chain saw; I stood there

weeping like a child as I

watched the first tree being

cut at the stump while the

ghastly claws of the loglifter

held the tree in its grasp then

setting it down on the street

so the arborist could take his

chainsaw slicing up the rest of

the trunk, cutting it down into

smaller, easier to manage pieces;

I went out for a few hours and

when I returned my tree was gone;

later, I went downstairs and took a

photo of the lonely trunk and I was

certain it felt my presence and knew

how sad I was to have lost such a

special part of the last dozen years of

my life; I started to walk away but I

stopped and turned around, bent over

the stump and picked up a branch that

had been left behind and a leaf that

was nearby; I took them in one hand

and touched the grainy wet surface of

the stump and smiled and went home

clutching my souvenirs tightly in my

hand; they would be the only remnants

of the tree that gave me so much for so

long and now I shall await the sapling