Footsteps
On San Simeon Pier
boys count their fish,
a kite flutters and flaps.
When a memory flashes,
I pause:
my steps trace those taken
by a woman with cancer.
I imagine she waits for people to leave,
feels the wind blowing her back,
snags her foot on a bumpy board
and decides this is just too hard.
I want her to look toward the hills,
glance at the castle,
see the gulls circling,
hear the surf crashing.
At a bench, she could reflect on family,
remember friends, think about her life . . ..
She tells me I don’t know her.
A can-do activist at eighty-four,
she pushes me aside, rushes ahead, and jumps.
Bed
Slipping into
my envelope
for sleep,
addressed
to destinations
unknown,
I wait.
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by Jeanie Greensfelder
Psychologist, poet, Women's Press writer, Hospice of SLO volunteer . . .
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Constraints
Two Dalmatians dart at me,
racing across a lawn.
Standing still on the sidewalk
I await their attack.
Within leaping distance
they halt, barking their desire.
I notice their battery collars—
an invisible fence contains them.
Walking on, I wonder about the dogs,
how it feels having an invisible fence,
getting a shock when boundaries
are crossed and, I realize, I know.
A Timely Tale
A Kalahari asks his white friend,
Why do you wear that evil thing?
“It’s just a watch. Let me show you.”
No. I do not want to know.
“Would you tell me why it’s evil?”
When you look there, you go away--
you are somewhere else.
You seem worried, scared.
Sometimes you actually leave.
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