for Pradip Chattopadhyay

What is the magic that pulls us ever back
To gather in a circle of remembering
And sharing in the glow of friendship
That time and miles can’t dim.

Why do we make our plans and get the things
We need to guarantee that we will get here
Out of the hubub of still busy lives
And the lethargy of quiet ones.

What is the reward for walking native streets
And looking at the things that made us “us”,
When most of us have sunk our sturdy roots
In places very different from here.

Who have we beome as life and time
Have lifted us and pulled us down-
A few to never rise again-
But most to stand astride the life we made

And tell the world and one another
That the soil of Longview nourished us
And helped us grow to be the trees
That make the forest beautiful.

That Cowlitz County lumber cut straight and true
And built a sturdy framework
That the young can climb to find their way
To make the world a better place.

We stood up proud and did our job
Now we can enjoy what we created
And share it once again with those
Who were with us at the starting of our journey.
ljm

I watched a rarity across the street,
Walking like an endangered species
On his way to school, alone.
Don't his parents realize,
As ours did,
That single men live on his way,
Looking out windows
With coffee and cigarette;
Married couples are household occupied,
Labourers, professionals and unemployed
Are behind closed, locked doors,
Busily preparing for another day.
Cars drive by, one slows behind him,
To ensure her carrier pigeon fledges along.
The lad in question pays no attention,
Playing catch-up with his shadow.

Only in my mind does she meet me as the sun kisses the sky.
In reality I'm just the guy she passes by. Her head lost in the clouds.
Paper separated from pen, public school education.
Only in my mind do we attend each others graduation,
Maintain the steady marriage of attendance. The time taken to grade each other's paper.
Study sessions that involve single spaced outlines. Algebraic equations.
An organic remedy that highlights not just inspiration but more sessions soon to follow.
In reality the classroom is actually empty and I am somewhere daydreaming.
Head lost in the clouds

Where will I sit?
Will I make friends?
Do I look okay
On my first day?
Do you think
I'll do alright?
Is it like learning
To ride my bike?

     *Congrats, my child,
     You're doing fine,
     You've just learned
     The first day's rules.
     The fears, anxieties
     And self-doubts,
     Are life's hard lessons
     We could do without.
     There's no teacher
     Or book of stories
     To allay your ever-present worries.
     The stress now filling up your head,
     Is with you til the very end.

*But I want to stay home!

Boots were all we had in winter,
Wellingtons made of a slice of rubber;
Turned down to show initials,
That bled upon the snow.
Between skin and cold,
Coarse wollen socks,
Sometimes they matched,
They'd criss and cross.

In from the boys' yard,
The slide and frost,
The boots were heaped
In backroom closets.
The sting of chilblains
On sock-soaked feet,
The line of footprints
Led to our seats.
We had one pair at school,
No other cover
Sliding across the oaken floors.
Drying on the radiators,
Our pungent odor,
A synaptic recall,
The unschooled smell
Of winter schoolyards.

When we kids I remember her.
She tripped me up in the
playground grazing both my knees.
She broke into my locker at school
and  stole all my Candy stash.
She copied my math homework
getting me an F.
Then she told my first girlfriend
I was secretly Gay.
I married her last year
If that’s all she wanted
Why didn’t she
Just say so.

School days in winter
Were such fun
Without a care,
When we were young.

At recess we'd slide
On ice,
Build our forts,
Duck and fight.
The firemen
Beneath starlight,
Would flood our schoolyard,
Whet appetites
For hockey games
Between senior classes;
We'd skate and shoot,
Fall on our *****.
Such joy and fun,
And no one lost.

The bell would sound,
Then we'd toss
Our wet socks
On school room
Rads.
His and hers
Like banners waving,
Drying, hissing,
Choking, aging.

Impatiently we'd sit and wait,
Do our math
And conjugate;
The clock's hands,
Frozen,
Watched from
The wall,

At last the lunchtime
Bell would ring,
And we'd get bundled
Once again.

Before heading home
We're enticed
To slide once more
On hard, grey ice.