With a name like Lily, she had to endure
Bullets flew all around her
like swarms of stinging bees
since the day she was born.
Lily learned early on to make
use of her musical disposition
and began each day with a song.
The guns of war became the
drums of the songs she sang.
She grew flowers in the snow,
and no one knew how she grew
ruby-red pomegranates in winter.
A living flower herself with some
marvelous radiance that glowed.
All her friends ran for their lives
between the war-torn countries
of Bosnian Herzegovina, Serbo-
Croatia and Montenegro.
Lily never stopped smiling as she
witnessed courageous journalists
document the war crimes of those
monsters who would eventually be
brought to justice and spend the
rest of their lives in prison.
Sweet loneliness
Is what I feel every day
since you passed away.
Your loving energy
keeps me company
as I remember you
dancing for me like
a flower unfolding
in your quivering body.
You moved to the sound
of the whirring wings of
a flock of hummingbirds
drinking nectar from dahlias
and forget-me-nots
we planted in our garden.
There was nothing
more certain than
our love for each other
that will comfort me
until the day I join you
in the world beyond.
Memories drenched in sunlight
An old guy enjoys lunch
of yesterday’s seafood salad
on his sunny front porch
watching cars roll by as he
wonders where they’re all going.
He focuses on the tasty warm
linguini leftover reminding
him of the tender parts of his
deceased wife’s entire body.
He remembers how much
it pleased him to please her
over and over again on long
sunny afternoons when they
went for walks in the woods.
Listening for you
When I call you these days
you’re not there anymore.
There is no you or there
there the way it used to be.
We used to spend hours
on the phone discussing
why you weren’t ready
to marry me as we listened
to our favorite mucisians.
I keep leaving a message
for you to call me, but
you never return my calls
Please call me back.
I will keep waiting.
An artist all the time
The whole wide world is her canvas,
paying attention to every moment
of sensation with curiosity and awe.
She exploits an endless imagination
to create what has never been seen
or heard before.
Every stick in a pick-up-sticks become
a note in a musical composition.
Every scent in a garden of roses
becomes a perfume sought
by the most elegant women.
Anything touched with tender finger-
tips is stored in a library of sensations
to be included in the finest poems of
every poet Laureate. And don’t forget
olfactory discoveries from foreign nations
that are included in the best recipes known
in the finest restaurants in every country.
This artist is alive like no other artist.
Those who make her friendship are enriched
with a fierce awakening they could not have anticipated.