Idle Moments

Those early mornings
When dark lies heavy across morning
And the rush of life
Takes away the enjoyment
Of coffee steam and sleepy squirrels
By 7 am you’ve sweated and cleaned and watered and laundered
Somewhere along the way
You lost the joys of small things
Passions that once defined you have become
Ancient history
If you had idle moments you would wonder
How the hell that happened
But idle moments
Are ancient history too


I remember how proud he was
Of his little patch of garden
Red with tomatoes
And his old work boots
Planted with pansies
And I wonder if he watched a last sunset
Before he died
Alone on a bathroom floor with a knife and a needle
And I wonder if there was
Anything else I could have done
But I’ll never know now
And I hope someone else
Remembers him for more than his mistakes
Because that isn’t all he was


His gravestone rested
On a rock pinnacle
The land that had killed him
His ashes scattered to the winds
So he might continue his roaming

She didn’t shed a tear
It would do no good
Death didn’t care
If you walked away bone dry

She was alone again
But for a time he’d reminded her
To enjoy sunrises over mountain tops

She walked away
Softer than she’d been
And stronger because of it.


Behind us all is a trail
Breadcrumbs of a sort
You see
Life in all its brutality
Chips pieces of us away
And even if we could gather them all up
Cradle them in our arms
Those lost pieces of ourselves
We can’t make them fit again
Some pieces
Once sheared away
Will never fit again
Will never call us home
And we can choose
To call ourselves broken
Or changed