William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Maybe on a Summer Day

Twenty-six degrees. I’m reminded of a similar morning in my mother’s old age, when the furnace stopped working, and how for the entire time during its repair, I chatted with the workman while she stayed in bed to keep warm, snug and unperturbed beneath her grandmother’s quilt, secure in the haze of her thought and non-thought, as if her dementia were a pair of soft comfortable pajamas. Now my wife and I live in the very same house, and the same furnace is on, blowing faithfully the last dozen years, and for six of them my mother has been snug in her grave in Fresno, if such strange stories are to be believed.

October 31, 2019

 
Maybe on a Summer Day

Maybe on a summer day
I will bring you roses
while you look up at me in bed,
smiling at the stranger
who used to be your son.

Each one will make a bright bouquet,
with thorns that sing the blood
of unremembered deeds and roads.

Maybe on a summer day
I will find you standing in the rain,
melting like brown sugar
into girlhood again.

And the rain will be warm,
an urge without an explanation,
sweet beyond reproach,
gently healing fingers.

Red for love, pink for shy belief,
yellow for the sun, a rainbow-ribbon
of light upon your hair, whispers
like the breath of dawn.

Maybe on a summer day
I will take you home again,
a caravan of one along
the narrow country roads
where eucalyptus grows
and the dry grass lies sleeping,
ever sleeping.

Songs and Letters, December 29, 2005
The Painting of You, Author’s Press Series, 2009

Categories: New Poems & Pieces, Songs and Letters, The Painting of You

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,