Today the Unexpected

Today it is the once a fortnight when my cleaner comes

and I find myself telling him who I am: who I once was and still am,

although yesterday I wished he wouldn’t get here quite so early.

As I write, I decide after all not to request a change of time / person.

I find myself telling him I’m a performance poet, a healer, a witch.

When I was younger I didn’t tell anyone those things; I was afraid.

As I write, I decide not to request a change of time or person.

(I couldn’t have known this rapport would suddenly flourish.)

When I was younger, I didn’t tell anyone such things; I was afraid …

Anyway, I want to learn more about his time as a circus clown.

How could I have known this rapport would suddenly flourish?

(I had a dream, myself, for years, of being a trapeze artist, flying.)

Anyway, I want to hear more of his time as a circus clown –

although yesterday I was wishing he wouldn’t arrive quite so early.

I dreamed, myself, for years, of being a trapeze artist, flying ...

Today is the once in forever when my cleaner and I share stories.

Written in response to a prompt from 

Pádraig Ó Tuama from Poetry Unbound: 

What time is it? (It's pantoum time)

(His instructions don't include the traditional pantoum rhyming – 

or any rhyming.)

Katherine

is not in the world any more

had a generous, woman-shaped body

laughed warm and rich, with a witchy cackle

fully uproarious or huskily intimate

wise defender of women, knew also that men

can be in need of acceptance and comfort

became my friend and ally at our very first meeting, and

stayed that way the next three decades and more until she

left this life with grace, dignity, strength and courage, 

on her own terms, attending her own living wake,

helping design her own coffin and shroud

gave me a talented, original god-daughter – 

who, with her for a mother 

needed no extra sustenance or joy

shared with me Reiki, Tarot and witchcraft; though 

we arrived by different roads, our paths aligned

shared with me dreams and plans – hers and mine –

and loves and griefs and setbacks and adventures

told me decades before it happened: ‘Yes, Rosemary, 

you too will dance and sing for the Goddess’

stayed connected over distance and time

was a tall tree in my life, which, dead, still towers

(Photo © Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2019)

Written for Poets and Storytellers United, for my own prompt: A Dead Tree, at Friday Writings #228.

Winter Beach

Restless, the sea foam

flashes quicksilver.

Watching, I long to be a mermaid,

lifting the tangles of my hair

to the keen windrush.

Then the ebb tide

rolls back, long and slow.

The crests of the waves

peak like white wings

of skimming gulls

before the water, far out there,

smooths to transient peace.

Written in response to Poetics: Names of the Rose at dVerse. We are asked to include at least five from a list of rose names. I have used a few more: Restless, Sea Foam, Quicksilver, Mermaid, Tangles, Windrush, Ebb Tide, White Wings, Peace. One option was to make the poem about the approach of Summer, but here in Australia it's Winter that is approaching. I used the memory of a beach I used to live near and loved to walk in Winter. I also loved to photograph it.