Now that we are on in years,
celebrations change and dwindle
to little remnants of tradition.
We are two stragglers
from life’s journey,
Left behind by the young,
No longer nurturing him,
yet tied to his well-being
even as we wait for his call.
I celebrate Yule not in our home,
but by imaging his joy beside a tree,
his exchange of gifts with her.
And I recall the first Christmas
with my husband, falling asleep together
under a mammoth tree filled with light.
We made ornaments for fun
and poverty didn’t matter.
I wrote a poem for him,
decorated with scenes of our life.
And now, we are too weary
to celebrate like that.
It is as if we pore through a box,
a ragged thing, dragged through time,
looking for souvenirs of joy
and memories of the life we had
when he was here.

What's the  greatest vulnerability?
   It's none other than love-- literally

You know I love you
You must know all the things I do,
Big things, small things,
Despite your worry, I will not go.
But sometimes you annoy me,
With lots of small things,
Is it your way to avoid me?
Or do you miss the pain it brings?
Toilet seats, left up all the time,
Open ******* boxes all over the pantry,
Crumbs on the floor and ants in a line,
Towels stuck in the microwave; I'm angry!
Why can't you do these simple things?
It's not a lot to ask.
Don't get me started on your room:
Clothes and junk are just too much,
And in the other one, A Temple of Doom,
Your record collection sits untouched.
Downstairs, there’s a pile of tools,
filling up the dining room,
It'd be great if you used these "jewels";
You're so attached they should be in the bedroom!
They're just lots of small things,
Why won't you clean them up?
To me they're irritating things,
And they just keep piling up.
All the small things
Sitting here for twenty years.
Are they the talismans
Against your fears?
You used to bring me flowers
To show me that you cared.
Now you shop online for hours;
I sometimes forget you’re there.
When you ignore the small things,
I’ll dig them out of a pile
And see what money they bring;
You won’t notice after a while.
Maybe in twenty years more
I’ll have all these things
Whittled down and cleared
And we could be each other’s things
Once more.

Sharon Talbot - 2010-2024

There will always be change
That much is the same
Yet it's not the change
But the chains
That mire me

I admired
She knew
It was nothing new
Us two
In this game
The one that we played
Where the rules displayed
That the game
Was not spoken
Or displayed

A cat and mouse chase
Set at tortoise's pace
Torture gladly I take
While I patiently wait
Possibility's sake
Of a move I might make

Emily, Emily, called back,
But not set free,
By those who worship
and study thee!

Summers see the young ones
Gather on your lonely grave.
Kissing with immortal tongues,
To desire they are slaves;

But you forgive them blithely,
tell them to proceed,
In your name and memory,
The one thing you knew not was greed.

-Sharon Talbot