EYES CLOSED

EYES CLOSED


Sprawled out on
cement steps –
those I climb several
times a weeks to
our library –
today, I leaned my
head against a pole
closed my eyes
to see a stranger
looking back –
a stranger’s face.

Knew - your face I never
knew - or had you
known me?

Did you die?

You kept talking to me
with your eyes – staring
at me, as if asking me to
say something, do
something – so I closed
my eyes –
opened my eyes –
closed – open – closed
open – trying to make you
go away.

I began to study your face.

My eyes remained closed –

You never stopped staring,
I knew you were trying to
say something – I could see
it in your eyes –

I never knew you – but who
did you know? Who knew
you? – someone here, here
at this library?

Tell me the message –
Tell me who it is?

Or - perhaps it was only
your mistake, sending
a message to the
wrong person?

My eyes opened – closed
once more, opened and
closed –
opened -
no way to remove
your face.
Why am I playing
your game?

Strangers passing, holding
books, climbing cement
stairs – those steps – I have
climbed many times, but
never once placed my head
against this old pole –

Will you haunt me now?
Or return in a dream?

I returned, a week or
so later, sitting on cement
closing my eyes –
I’ve never seen
your face again.

Perhaps, you felt
alone in heaven?

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
copyright 2010

COMMUNICATING AFTER DEATH

COMMUNICATING AFTER DEATH


A shot glass you once held and gave
to us – a souvenir
has been on display since you
passed away
at parties among gin – scotch - whiskey
and there - a Schlitz shot glass
peers at us with eyes unseen.

A simple token of you brings back
laughter – stories - tales of when you
too were here embracing life -
it was this a glass we brought . . .
I told you so
while I talked to you on the porch -
asking, “Please show us you are here
tonight.”

A different week - broken mirrors. . .
not knowing why two broke into
smithereens - then a glass moves
moving dust around - a clean circle,
we knew it was you

a meeting with a glass, he told me
to place inside my purse – so
that night – on our porch I asked
you to please give us a sign –
to know forever more
you are with us

we are sitting among all
who prayed to themselves
to be chosen – but was
it all our words – our talks
which mean so much – I knew
you were listening – I knew you
were following my steps

number one – we knew a medium
came through as she talked -
words of a child – what she
held inside a coffin – what she
wore to sleep – who was the last
one to hold her hand. . .
next a woman deep in depression –
another needing surgery – and
finally the girl in the blue blouse -
our eyes connected

she said, “I see two – a paternal
Grandmother pushing to be heard
first and your mother – holding
a baby in her arms.”
Every word connected us – but
when she held up her hand and
said, “Your mother is
talking about a little glass” my
husband nearly collapsed.
when she said, “The mirrors –
she didn’t break the expensive one…”
and when she told me not to
soak my feet, it was expensive -
supportive shoes I need. . .
mother’s words continued and
she wasn’t skipping a beat – she
did not want to stop telling
and all she said was perfectly
read -

now I know for sure your
with me – between us as we
ride – you said so, knowing I
do not drive. . .
you told us you were listening

like the good luck plant – a man
gave me – Irish Shamrocks -
on Mothers Day, he gave to me,
a stranger

so we continue – we communicate
without words – your love remains
strong now – as if we looked
eye to eye

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved