David Ruslander

Soundless As Dots


"Soundless as dots--on a Disc of Snow-" *
I stood with hood up, galoshes unbuckled
and my navy blue knitted mitten outstretched
to catch snowflakes as I waited for you at the corner.
The soundless dots covered the wool like
the milky way covers the night sky.
What mystified me was not the snowflakes
but rather the spaces within them.
For the first time I saw space instead of shape.
Slowly the snow transformed to water droplets.
My toes began to ache.
Why didn't you meet me
at the corner like you promised?

*Emily Dickinson



Grandfather Davis


Lamb's wool graces his head.
It's a porch-sitting kind of day.
Invited by his metal fanned-back chair, he sits.

Only content silver backs still enjoy the porch.
Brown eyes still sharp and bright.
Veins protrude from his lanky arms and temples.

Long thin fingers clasp loosely in his lap, he reflects.

He has grown accustomed to his less able body.
His small vegetable garden weeded for the day
and all the produce nurtured to ripen.

Sheets flapping in the sunny breeze send
clean laundry smell to his nose.
His wife Vera from 50 years ago floats to him.

Eyelids heavy, his head nods for an afternoon nap.
A pleasant memory returns to the ether
to be captured on another porch-sitting kind of day.



Tangerine Morning


Today is a mild tangerine morning.
Peasant women stoop and brush
the night away with stick brooms.

Maids soothe crying crickets
as they light their laundry pyre.
Cauldrons of steamed laundry
paint clouds on the sky

Mourning doves pray night's return.
White faced Geisha hobble down cobblestones,
bow at each other in still perfect kimonos
until they arrive home to rest, before lessons.

Silk rustles with the flowers in the morning breeze.




Teresa White Joseph C. Hinson Diane Laurie-Farmer David Ruslander Helena