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The Reading Room
2017 June/July
Pg 5 - The Sunshine Express
Treasures From The Inbox
If you get email, you
get stuff. Sometimes
it is spam, sometimes
it is a true gem.
Here is one of those
gems worth sharing:
Tears of Her Heart
Her soul is colorful, blossoming,
with each shade and hue.
But when the slight breezes changes
and your gaze moves to the right;
she¡¯s something entirely brand new.
She holds tinges of gray.
And when the rain falls,
it¡¯s in the puddles
you will see
the tears of her heart.
And when her colors
are the brightest,
You will hear her joy
in the rising of the sun
and her song of love
through the swaying
of the leaves.
- Linda J. Wolff 2017,
urbanpoetry2017.com
(reprinted with permission)
Keepers
I grew up in the 40s/50s with practical parents.
Mother, God love her, washed aluminum foil after
she cooked in it, then reused it. She was the
original recycle queen before they had a name for
it. Father was happier getting old shoes fixed than
buying new ones.
Their marriage was good and their dreams
focused. Their best friends lived barely a wave
away. I can see them now, Dad in trousers, t-shirt
and a hat and Mom in a house dress, lawn mower
in one hand and dish-towel in the other.
It was the time for fixing things. A curtain rod,
the kitchen radio, a screen door, the oven door,
the hem in a dress. Things we keep.
It was a way of life
and sometimes it
made me crazy.
All that re-fixing,
eating, renewing.
I wanted just once
to be wasteful.
Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away
meant you knew there¡¯d always be more.
But then my mother died, and on that clear sum-
mer¡¯s night, in the warmth of the hospital room,
I was struck with the pain of learning that some-
times there isn¡¯t any more.
Sometimes, what we care about most gets all
used up and goes away, never to return. So while
we have it, it¡¯s best we love it, care for it, fix it
when it¡¯s broken and heal it when it¡¯s sick.
This is true for marriage, old cars, children with
bad report cards, dogs with bad hips, imperfect
lovers, aging parents and grandparents. We keep
them because they are worth it, because we are
worth it.
Some things we keep, like a best friend that
moved away or a classmate we grew up with.
There are just some things that make life impor-
tant, like people we know who are special.
And so we keep them close!
Guest Poetry
At an airport, I overheard a father and daugh-
ter in their last moments together. They had
announced her plane¡¯s departure and standing
near the door, he said to his daughter, ¡°I love
you, I wish you enough.¡± She said, ¡°Daddy, our
life together has been more than enough. Your
love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too,
Daddy.¡± They kissed good-bye, and she left.
Standing there, I could see he wanted to cry. I
tried not to intrude on his privacy but he opened
up asking, ¡°Did you ever say good-bye to some-
one knowing it would be forever?¡±
¡°Yes, I have,¡± I replied. ¡°Forgive me for asking,
but why is this a forever good-bye?¡±
¡°I am old, and she lives much too far away. I
have challenges ahead and the reality is her next
trip back will be for my funeral,¡± he said.
¡°I heard you say, ¡®I wish you enough.¡¯ May I ask
what that means?¡±
He began to smile. ¡°That¡¯s a wish that my par-
ents used to say to everyone,¡± he said then he
shared the following, reciting it from memory:
¡°I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude
bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun
more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit
alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys
in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you
possess.
I wish you enough ¡®Hellos¡¯ to get you through
the final ¡®Good-bye.¡¯¡±
He then began to sob and walked away.
I Wish You Enough
My Hairline Fracture
A long while ago in another time and place
I couldn¡¯t abide poetry
Not even 2 minutes of floetry
It just wasn¡¯t my thing
I¡¯d never been keen
Then an attack from out of the blue
Turned my life around anew
A bump on the head
As large as an egg
A hairline fracture, in fact a cracked head
Doc said I¡¯d be Ok
And showed me the X-ray
For days I lay in bed
Dreaming of what lay ahead
No Gray vision
But certainly a circumcision
Suddenly my words came alive
And they began to thrive
Rhyme & reason unfurled
As the poetry whorled
Now I¡¯m careful with my head
Not wanting to reverse the thread
The worst thing to happen to me
Would be for this ghostly poet to flee
Now I love my hairline fracture
Without which I could never capture
This fulfilling gift of love
That I¡¯m certain came only from above
- Vivian Zems
(When I was nine, my dad introduced me to
audio books. I was hooked. With his guidance, I
fell into a world where words became life simply
by weaving them together. So here I am, liv-
ing out my passion, reading and writing! Enjoy
the ride with me at: smellthecoffeeweb.blog
Reprinted with permission.)