Ruth Daigon 



Forgetting

I'm beginning to forget names, faces,
the day, the date, the year.
You say I'm irresponsible.
You appoint yourself my guardian.
You wear a tweed coat, 
a fedora, a shoulder holster
like a secret-service man. 
You carry a rope to leash me.
You tell me when to wake and when to sleep.
You grow a beard like a rabbi and stroke it
while you recite my silly stories.
Soon, you'll write my poems and read them
while I sit listening in the back row.
But, you'll lie awake at night
staring into the dark.  
My turn to sleep.
And on my last day, 
you'll be the one to go, leaving me here 
living and forgetting..

On The Lookout

moss slimes the bottom of the pond the sun trapped in a net of willows the light precisely green where fish hang dark in shadows
water flexes on its thick root as you drift listening to the far calling of birds and nuances of evening
this might be a slow eden but fears congregate like sharks scenting blood the dread of ending up face down eye to unblinking fish eye
and the terror hovering just below the surface a quick attack a stripping clean
keeps you floating in the shallows close to shore always on the lookout for the approaching fin



Poetry Begins

with the road gang on route 6 repairing the pole smashed on a Saturday night drag race.
Ambulance gone tow truck as well silence spreads like an oil stain.
Particles of sand, steel and broken glass sift down to the bottom of the day
and a stray dog pisses on the perimeters.

© 1997 Ruth Daigon