Upside-Down Chair Legs

It was early morning

before the sun barely made its presence known.

I passed a white concrete walled room

with numerous rectangle glass windows.

The dim overhead lights were on.

The upside-down chair legs of

little classroom desks peaked out

from above the window frames.

Lazy June this room leftover

on standby waiting for late August

and the children’s feet that won’t

 quite hit the floor

while sitting in those chairs.

I remember my feet swaying

back and forth while my teacher,

long years ago,

Issued introductions and instructions

into the world outside those windows.

Solitude of Grief

Your gone but I’m still here.

Stunned like a jumping deer facing a car

On its last perilous crossing.

I’m left with a pending crisis

Of how to move forward.

The solitude of this grief.

A Weed

Those drunken hateful words

held still above

before they flowed through the air

later to fall back to the earth

like a seed of a reluctant weed

left to grow in truth

with its thorny stem

between the concrete cracks

of a torn-up road.