Banker Bob wears suspenders and a bow tie is older than God rents rooms to the newly sober bridges no bullshit. Old school AA he brooks no whining insists newbies suit up and show up. Never loses sight of the disease that wants to kill us. He is just a man many years sober doing what we are taught saving lives. Don’t talk, listen. Don’t try, do. Walk the talk. Keep it simple. Help another alcoholic.
Cynthia M. Sheward
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BANKER BOB
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32B
Abuse is subtle
Nothing friends see
I'm blamed for his mistakes
He credits my work to himself
Observes I'm “almost” thin enough
Implies small things lacking
If only I were smarter, prettier, quieter
He laughs when I fail
Photographs my clumsiness
Ignores my success
Mumbles under his breath
the whispered threat
“I’m getting angry.”
He pouts childlike when ignored
Hovers over me in arguments
Buries the kitchen table in papers
Resists clearing it even for parties.
Holds my arm tightly lest I leave
The Christmas tree he promises to take down
remains up until Easter.
His hatchet for cutting up chicken
for the dogs rests against the hoosier.
It gives me pause.
He harangues me while I book vacation.
I select the seats.
I'm in 13A
He’s in 32B. -
WAITING 1963
Each night I wait. I watch out the window. I count cars that appear on the road. See their headlights grow then dwindle as they continue past on two lanes heading north. “If I count ten cars, he’ll come.” “If I count twenty…” I hope we will drive to the light and talk and laugh but he may not appear. I sit at the window until late, the night gone. Disappointment’s my reward. All evening I'm held hostage to hope. My job – suspense, submission. His – choice and power.
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PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE
I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands one nation, diverse and indivisible, created and preserved by the love and labor of indigenous people, slaves and immigrants for their children and their children’s children as one nation with freedom to worship, to love, to marry and to seek the truth and insist on its telling and to preserve this fragile earth with respect, liberty and justice for all.
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LONG LIFE
Nothing says elder like grab bars installed in your shower and tub to keep one from slipping when soapy and dripping and hitting the floor with a thud. Nothing says senior like sneakers worn with any and all sorts of dress to keep one from wobbling ungracefully hobbling though safe, not designed to impress. Nothing says ancient like groaning every time one gets up or bends down and the need for a prop to help pull oneself up lest you’re stuck all day long on the ground. Nothing’s as lovely as living long enough for what’s listed above letting go of the strife and arranging your life with a focus on those whom you love.
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VIGIL
She is sixteen when leukemia claims her a girl of nut-brown hair and letter sweaters the brightest star in the local firmament. She outshines her brother even in death. The church overflows onto Route 12 the April afternoon of her funeral. She leaves behind a mother, a brother, a father. Each evening the family sits at her graveside as if awaiting benediction. That summer her friends bring picnics to her grave. The red votive lamp on her headstone is always lit. It shines in easy view of the family’s kitchen window and glows warmly through blizzard, rain and star shine. Deer walk daily through the churchyard years sift down like snow. The son graduates, moves to Bradford. The father works and works and works. The mother sits by the glowing lamp. Deposit Photos Image 124351762_xl_2015.jpg
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BELOVED
If I call myself Beloved I cannot trade my life for trinkets. I must not pursue more than my due. I may not treat my body like a dumpster. If I call the stranger Beloved I cannot smash his head with a bat. I must remove my hand from his pocket. I may not force myself on his wife. If I call the earth Beloved I cannot mine her oceans. I must not poison her air. I may not abuse her wildlife. Beloved, I become one with the moth on the screen, the mouse in its nest, the hawk in the sky. -
PERSISTANCE
Why so many rules, Shepherd? Have you no faith your flock will return Wiser and grateful for your fences Glad of food and shelter? Our boundaries are our own Close or far, sharp or smooth Set by instinct, fear or faith Curiosity or passion. Not all live long Some return their bodies early For soil to recycle but Matter abides - ours and theirs. And what of spirit? If the world wastes nothing Do not spirits too persist Awaiting their next vessel?
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SATURDAYS
It’s hard not to love the world. A small boy at Dunkin’ Donuts all blue eyes - tousled hair curls his toes on the rung of his chair waves at me through the glass. Leaving Dunkin’, one dad holds the door for another as his daughter spins in her red skirt and her dark curls fly in a little girl’s flirt. Saturdays with her dad. How can I not love this routine weekend trips with children? Media so rarely features bliss, family outings, courtesy better than a kiss is the kindness and joy that hold us here.
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DELICIOUS
Forty-year old men have grace unseen in younger men, however fine. Their depth of voice and solid stance shivers my spine. With shoulders for children and eyes for business, tortoise shell glasses for slight correction, they give and also take direction. Aware that stamina won’t trump skill they accept the limits of their will. They’re fathers, lovers, friends of substance with minds like rooms, ideas abundant neither peace nor conflict rocks their stride. They step out boldly or move aside. I could watch, enjoy them by the hour, those thickened backs and thighs of power. I love their jaws with new grown stubble their easy way approaching trouble. I sigh remembering a lover - forty years in the making - one afternoon in the taking.
A WELL TRAVELED HEART 