When winds at night on windows roar
wax runs out dies candle's flame
you would hear a knock upon door
a familiar voice calling your name.

Don't respond nor open the eyes
the voice is keen over winds' howl
grows it louder its pitches rise
scaring even the brave barn owl.

Pull the blanket up your head
you are safe so long you hide
lie dead quiet not move on bed
with mom asleep by your side.

Between the pause your fears mount
if is a chance to be found out
one two three the calls you count
but count it right leave no doubt.

Three times the voice would call your name
for it has no power to do any more
but move onto where dies a candle's flame
and a child is awake behind closed door.

She does not ask for much;
a piece of paper,
a few markers,
time, and a mind at peace.
Her patience is maddening.
Dot by dot,
fantasies form,
sprung from her forehead
fully grown and armed
with the colors she imagines.
Her gray eyes clouded
with concentration,
for every jab of her hand
must strike true,
a felt-tip Seurat.
Her life a study in pointillism, too;
each day filling in
an outline, dark and light
commingled, colored by
those who come and go,
the users and losers,
the bruisers and the healers.
Self-portraits abound;
the smiling face and glowing eyes
she will show the world
painted over the pain
she has known
from loss of blood
and faithless friends.

A word to the wise:
Though her unicorns and pegasi
are strikingly beautiful,

her demons can be quite real.

We who live on the fringes
of the working-class
know her all too well.
A tulip of a child,
precociously blossoming
at eleven or twelve,
cute and acutely aware.
Never knowing her father,
her mother changing
boyfriends like fashion,
new each season.
Little girl's mind flush
with women's hormones,
she wraps herself around
the first small male kindness;
a good warm hug what she needs,
but has learned but one way
to express love.

What do I want?
That's a very interesting
and difficult question...
so deep, & philosophical,

To wish? To crave?
but not to need?
for me at least
I say indeed,
hope you agreed
a requirement,
I think,
you must feel both,
& also to love,
you ...
must be,
should be,
could be?
...a true companion,
my very best friend
my lover,
who I confide in
until the very end,
your loving hands
on whom we can depend
your pretty lips,
my name he will defend,
rely on in our times of stress,
to whom in all,
I can confess
oh, when my life,
is such a mess,
comforting, trusting
emotionally intelligent
softly encouraging,
challenging me
feels like he's...
my destiny
able to reflect on
personal struggles
while accepting ours
such a beautiful mind
thoughtful and so, very, very kind
perceptive and insightful
to love him, delightful
and humorous
quick-witted,
handsome and right
loves me today,
& all through the night
in darkest of hours
& 'neath stormy showers,
astutely observant
sensitive to others
respected by all
especially by Mother,
creative and artistic
& oh so forgiving,
tappin' a foot,
enjoyin' just livin'
poetically rendering
sensual pleasures of life
amidst daily chores
in triumph and strife,
understanding and strong
a love lasting long,
magnetic attraction,
like moth to a flame,
never regret,
this love doesn't blame
in every single way
& every single day,
every molecular cell
in secrets he'll never tell
so beautifully familiar
surging through my veins
every thought inside my brain,
my body filled,
with endless hunger pangs,
my enlarged heart
it gets a start
with eager valves waiting
like a drug
in your hug
in your kiss,
that I miss,
& your lips,
touching me,
with those...
fingertips,
as again ...it skips,
your touch
is so much,
you are more
than before,
& not just enough
a binding agent
lovely & fragrant,
sticky sweet
A tasty treat,
I wait for you,
& love so true,
I want you
I need you
to know love
2 love you,
just one time,
tell me...
cannot be a crime?
a love like this is so divine,
like a beautiful sun coming up,
over the other side of that mountain
an awe inspiring experience
with no interference,
every time I see your face
or when I don't,
my mind retraces,
right there where you are,
& shining like the Northern Star,
you will always be
the same as me,
different from here
and yet still
we are indistinguishable
like a fire
& built from pure desire,
taking us so much higher,
we are one...together,
our love goes on... forever,
a wish fullfilled
a dream come true
we're holding hands,
just me & you
our love is true
& skies are blue,
with me for every tomorrow,
sunlit days & grey skied sorrows,
sit 'neath the fire
my frequent flyer,
when you bury my bones
when you are there at home,
& if you're ever alone,
you'll know me best
& unlike all the rest
like your dark eyed daisy
your lovely baby,
tell my story rich & true
& I will do the same for you,

this to me anyway,
This...Is love.

Cherie Nolan

born 1900
when Austria was still a monarchy
    that did not know
    it was approaching its end

growing up as the daughter
of the mayor of a little district town
    big fish in a small pond
educated accordingly
as a ‘higher daughter’

   be a home decorator
   do needlework
   be a gourmet cook
   play the piano
   be a respectable member
       of the community and the parish

when she turned 18
after the end of world war I
the social order for which she had been prepared
simply disappeared

her father became a disillusioned monarchist
the town’s republicans elected a new mayor

she married a railway engineer
who left her after her daughter
    my mother
was born
she managed to survive world war II
as a single mother

watched her daughter
    fall in love with, at Christmas 1946,
    and marry in April 1947
a guy who had just escaped
from a Soviet POW camp
looked like a walking skeleton
       my father
AND
was the son of a communist
who  had survived  world war I
as a POW in Siberia

strange bedfellows

     they used to play cards together
     once a week
     with great gusto

     class warfare
     morphed into social entertainment

both my parents were working
grandmother  led the household
on the side did bookkeeping for local businesses
     to bring in some money
practically raised me and my brother
cared for us when we were sick
taught me to play the piano

was always afraid we would not get
enough to eat

for a while, as a little child,
I slept in the same room with her
and  learned that she had
a wondrously melodious snore
    going over an octave & some such

when, after grade school,
I had to leave at 5.45 am
to catch the train
    pulled by a sturdy steam engine
that took me to the high school  
    50km down the road
she was concerned when I
   rushing out the door
just grabbed parts of the breakfast
she had so lovingly prepared

when I left home for university
she was not happy
when I went to the USA for a whole year
she was disconsolate

she did enjoy her great-grandkids
when they visited, though

too much distance for too long
from the place of her birth
made her uncomfortable
in her later years
she needed a familiar place
that came with its familiar things
to do and know

she lived to be 87

I saw her last
after a second stroke
had mostly incapacitated her

a tiny woman
curled up
waiting to leave us
for a world that finally might heal
the pain and disappointment
she had so bravely mastered
throughout her life