Charlotte Cohen, Judith Donner Hancock, Ben Krengel, John Yarbrough
The Rabbi
After the service I introduce myself.
The Rabbi eyes my faded jeans
(grief holds no truck with what to wear).
I know who you are he says and
walks away.
Judith Donner Hancock
December Holiday
Clouds that fretted
Through the night.
Now tattered and frayed.
The veld is wet.
On the highway
Cars stream by.
Their glass windows
Reflect, glint and glean.
People going on holiday.
At the curbside
Whisks and split husks
Of tall grass
Sway in the wind.
Plover chicks appear
Scratch search and run.
Scattered daisy heads
Turn their petals
To the morning sun.
Ben Krengel
The Season
The lawn’s a frigid jigsaw puzzle
of frozen brown grass.
Shut in for winter,
I sip your best scotch.
Your car is listed for sale
in the auto shopper.
There’s no tree this year,
no lights around the windows.
I hear the nurse in your bedroom
asking if you need another shot.
I grab the remote and turn off your tv.
The next time I turn it on
it will be mine.
John Yarbrough
Shock Waves
The end came softly
Not with bashing and banging
And screaming
No raucous manifestation
Of rocks unearthed
Or imploding demolition
Of the structures
That stood there before
It came with the realization
That patterns were riveted into place
It came with the knowledge
That there would be no change
It came by bolting the door
Against a barrage of abuse
Barring it from entry
The Tsunami broke the coastline to bits
Early on a summer morning
The wave had travelled for miles and miles
Surely, surreptitiously, silently
Gaining momentum
For the devastating destruction
Of its ultimate destination
With futile finality
In the ravaged quiet
After it left
The end came
Charlotte Cohen
