Ken Slaughter
Walking in GraftonI heard the tapping of his cane
before we saw him - an old man in a green shirt emerging in a scene of colonial stone walls, pink flowers, sunlit trees overflowing with leaves. He could have been Father Time himself, shuffling his way inevitably toward us his cane clicking like a clock. As he drew closer I could see the weight of human history bearing down on his sagging shoulders and when he looked up, I noticed his cheeks looked frozen in a crooked shape like a couple of sharp stones left behind by a glacier cobbled together to form a face. At the moment of our meeting he surprised us with a smile as if to defy his own gravity then pulled an instant from his pocket of time and placed it in our hands as a gift from eternity before going, tapping on his way. |
Selected Tanka and Senyru
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Selected Tanka And Senyru
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scent of rain rising from the pavement after a storm the few things I still believe will I hear it when it’s my time to go? my mother’s voice when the streetlights come on calling me home running late I take the wrong exit and my grandson laughs - he hasn’t yet learned how to panic |
a honk behind me as the red light changes to green… I’m half a second slower than my life my penny sinks to the bottom of a well … all the wishes I never made squeezing lemon into my tea I chat with my neighbor… a little bit goes a long way |
on the beach each piece of glass a poem I pick up the small ones nobody wants game time and my son can’t find his glove the smell of dust as I search for something to say to my ex-wife on a shelf in her dining room the red truck her father bought hoping for a boy |
drawn deeper into the woods by the song of a thrush - farther down this path than I wanted to go invisible fence his wife says the dog will get used to it an old friend… i duck down the other aisle ♢ |
Selected Tanka And Senyru
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lying in bed
no strength to lift this day a stack of what-ifs sitting on my chest company ethics half the truth above-board an orange moon rises over the beach… holding hands we see our shadows in a new light |
workplace art maybe I could paint after all shivering together we search among the clouds for the moon... those clear summer nights I never even looked grey day the solar farm gets a day off |
a frozen banana
falls to the floor with a thud... only in my dreams could I get so hard labor day our laid-off neighbor yells at his cat squeezing lemon into my tea I chat with my neighbor… a little bit goes a long way |
performance review I practice by bragging to my wife singing hymns on Easter Sunday my faith rises trying to walk out of its tomb on the wall sharing my shower… a spider let’s pretend, my friend we never saw each other |
Playing Pool With Harold |
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For this visit
he doesn’t bother wearing the wig. His legs look wooden and thin. A blue and gray sweatshirt sags from his shoulders: he’s always cold. In the basement we chalk our cue sticks and reminisce about a problem we solved in the year end program at a time when we thought we were really smart. I rack the balls. He lines up to break and all the colors of a rainbow explode on the table. |