Dream Repetition
How strange to be walking
past the shop from the
dream and note the differences,
the similarities that point
to one possible future in
which the former will become
the latter. Note the same
heaviness of step, the
leaf skittering across the
pavement that becomes
the butterfly fleeing from
a present in which we are
doomed to be forever absent,
lost in our failure to observe.
Hold tight. Forgetting that
there were other things that
we thought were important, too.
The Letter
The letter is from an old friend.
Long delayed. Unopened, still.
The lettering on the envelope
shaky, but formal, keeping up
appearances to the end. The
move will be her last after
living in the same house for
seventy years or more, out-
lasting the husband, most of her
friends. A last reminder of how
things used to be. Shared memories.
Does she listen, still, for the
voice of another? The answer,
long delayed, to the silence she
keeps too? Holding fast, even
though we forget, leaving behind
just a number, an address pinned
to the board. Reminders of all
that we let slip away.
Small Consolation
There is always the
consolation of silence.
Listening for the wind
rustling
through the treetops;
falling rain. A voice.
Because there is a
simplicity in the waiting,
in the patience that
waits to be rewarded.
The fleeting glance the
camera lens is too
sluggish to catch,
forgetful of all that
it seeks to hold fast.
Inattentive to the detail.
J.M. Summers was born and still lives in South Wales. Previous publication credits include “Another Country” from Gomer Press and “New Feathers.” The former editor of a number of small press magazines, he has published one book, Niamh, a collection of prose and poetry.
The Marbled Sigh 