Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Reflections on a special relationship

You appear at the door.
Your brown eyes meet mine.
I might hug you once more,
but you often decline.

You look me all over -
hair, dress, shoes submit
to the search of my rover,
Is this good, does that fit?”

You comb through my clothes
to find something bright -
some silky pants – some hose
- a blouse that's just right.

Have you washed yourself thoroughly?
Are all the doors locked?
(He checks the stove worriedly).
Is there something you forgot?

Now triple-check the door
and whose car shall we take?
Have you money galore?
Try to stay wide awake!

I ask,”Where are we going?
What will we do?”
These questions are annoying,
so I stay silent too.

He says, “Why don't you talk to me?
Why don't you ask me questions?
Don't you want me to be free?
Your disinterest brings reservations.”

Why do you always. . ?
Why don't you ever. . .?
No one behaves like you.
If you were someone else, I would never . .”

I'm uptight.
Nothing's right.
I'm not O.K.
He's not O.K.

Silence, pain, anger, despair.
What really happened?
Does anyone care?

Janet Spiller
September 13th, 1975

Cher Papa . . . a note with a “pressie”

It's been quite a while
since I wrote a rhyme.
I can only smile
at the topic this time.

These socks are for you.
I give you three.
Some tissue too.
(I got that free!)

Red, black and tan
to meet most needs
of an Englishman
who does good deeds.

Red is for racy,
the times you zoom out
and do something crazy
and give a great shout!

Here I am world
I'm not dead yet.
My spirit's unfurled
and I'm out to get.”

Tan is so quiet,
a ho-hum shade.
It won't cause a riot,
nor woo a young maid.

Black is quite formal
and denotes an occasion
like going to church,
or fiddling an Asian.

And so these great socks
were meant just for you
to enjoy “on the rocks”
and make dreams come true.
Love you, Janet, 1960