Three pairs of sandals
silent on the curb
like three conflicted children
wanting to dash
the dodge ball gauntlet
of automobile traffic
in gleeful faith in immortality
while in each brain cell
mother's voice commands
not to cross the street alone
even if both ways are clear.
So the sandals remain
side by side holding hands
like new neighbor kids anxious
for someone to ask them to play.
Pendulum of Life
Fathers and children play in the park
with swings the center attraction--back and forth,
back and forth like walking with Mom
still in the womb, but with Dad now
an occasional shove keeps the action steady
like the groove underneath from dragging
heel-toe, heel-toe until shoe topples off.
Dad stops the swing with one strong hand
until her shoe is tied back on
like layer after layer of duct tape
over a leaky radiator hose
and he lifts her overhead
like a giant poised to toss a boulder
which he does--back and forth
back and forth, a pendulum of life
carved like the groove beneath their feet.
Our shadows traveled together
tall or short with the sun's horizon
knowing morning reunites the journey.
Even when we parted paths,
I imagined yours next to mine.
After all, the same sun touched us both
until I walked on alone
leaving the shadow of your tombstone
sun dialing your legacy
carved in stone
as my shadow waved goodbye . . .
or maybe just hello.
Diane Webster enjoys the challenge of picturing images into words to fit her poems. If she can envision her poem, she can write what she sees and her readers can visualize her ideas. That's the excitement of writing. Her work has appeared in The Hurricane Review, Eunoia Review, Illya's Honey and other literary magazines.
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