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Strange Day

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Strange Day

(14 February)

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Charlie Brown

Gets an empty mailbox

We read the messages

On candy hearts

My mother made

A pink cake, heart-shaped

There were notes of

Love sent between the

Martyr and the followers

Such a strange day

We’ve made of this

Not bad

Sometimes bittersweet

Mostly strange

Red roses

That mean passion

Champagne, perhaps

Chateaubriand or other

Famous dish

Made for two

I forgot, Cupid

And the little round angels

Firing arrows into people

That don’t hurt unless

You don’t want

To feel that way

Strange day

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C L Couch

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Photo by jabez Samuel on Unsplash

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Gutted

Gutted

 

Walking through the house

Was strange: your

House that burned, now

Skeletal and

Perpendicular

 

Beams and cross-beams,

Bannister askew—rooms

Awash

 

In neutral shades of earth

And ash,

 

An appliance here or there;

 

For all the blackened parts

And where textures are

Impressed with soot and

Shadowed particles,

 

The house we see

Could be

 

Rising from the ground

As new:

 

Save for a generation’s

Life, now endowed only

By memory as legacy,

 

Which I think you saw

Upon the bones of

Your remembered home,

 

As we all walked through

8

Psalm 7, a small song of praise

Psalm 7
a small song of praise

Praise you, Lord, for
Three-legged cats that
Are still great birders
And dogs with broken backs
That can still run the length
Of the yard

Praise you for hearts that
Still work, even after surgeries
That won’t fix everything
Completely and forever

Praise you for liberal-arts degrees
And mini-strokes and all
The things that make us strange

Praise you, Lord, for I am strange
And yet you love me, still, and
Maybe even more

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