Sunday, December 13, 2020

Chris Askew

I miss six inches


I miss six inches of my walking stick 


a sturdy shaft of hickory cut green 

in an Alabama wood years and years 

ago – long strong and straight but for 

a knot and a skew at the end   


It served me well – forestalled falls, 

tended fires, fended branches, 

boulders, snakes, bear 


reached often where I could not  

supported shelters & weary legs 

in and out of nature's grace


Some time back in a fit of aesthetic 

correctness I trimmed off the knob 

and the bend at the end – looked 

so much tidier leaning in the corner  

by the fireplace


On the trail again after all this time 

I find my fingers go where my staff 

isn't


now, when steps are shorter, legs 

stiffer, mountains steeper I could 

use those extra inches whatever 

they looked like 


like I did way back when 

when the way things worked 

trumped the way things looked



Rear-view Mirror


When I put a mirror 

to my past, see my life 

as others might have seen

the roads not traveled, 

turnings missed, meandering 

through a maze of 

might-have-been

I find I wish I'd spent 

less time apart, played 

more with my kids, 

laughed more with friends, 

shared more their concerns, 

bared more my heart,

focused more on means 

and less on ends.  


Though such reflections 

show the road behind me

long and littered 

with a life's mistakes

the way ahead, though shorter, 

may yet find me clearer for 

the difference hindsight makes: 

While world-won wisdom cannot 

rearrange what’s been, we treasure 

still the hope of change.



Moments


Never mind that we crossed paths

among the avocado trees

Forget the bright wind tossing 

auburn strands across your sagebrush eyes

Forget your sun-warmed hands 

that held my arm as if I were a prize

to cherish, not a passing rambler 

tumbling down the desert breeze.


Never mind we sat, your arm in mine, 

beneath the orange-blossom skies

Forget we lingered as the sunset lined 

your upturned face with gold

Forget how lilac shadows swept the hills

bade jasmine flowers unfold

to bathe us in their sweetness 

as our small talk settled into sighs.


Never mind that we lay side by side 

as seaside night turned bright and cold

Forget we fell into the well of stars 

and, on the still-warm sand

soared through uncharted nebulae 

in silence, 'til you found my hand

and pressed it to your heart 

and pledged together we'd grow old.


Never mind our past 

our precious moments shape us as we stand

but know however long the journey 

you remain my promised land.


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