Love words
fall on the page
like drops of drizzling rain
slowly cooling
a fall afternoon.

Plopping into the dust
of a well-worn path,
Standing on leaves
of grass in
shining crystal splendor.

Not torrents from
a thunder storm.
We’ve had those days before.
Not like cold, grey winter days
turning to sleet.

But a slow cooling
Fall rain lasting into the evening
past the sunset,
Dripping off the house,
settling the night into our hearts.
 

I’ve learned
at 64
The love for you was
chemistry -- that’s all.

Your images -- the brain
set up -- I loved you.

You didn’t -- but
chemistry lasted.

And wanders in and
out of memory tangles.

And yesterday in an ad,
I saw an old Southern mansion.

And you walked
that path again.

           SIG member W. Michiel Hawkins is a retiree, first from the Army, and then from teaching Psychology at Hinds Community College in  Jackson, MS. Mickey considers himself a lifetime student of literature.  His poetry has appeared in Calliope. This year one of his short stories placed 3rd in a community college creative writing contest, and a poem placed first with the Mississippi Poetry Society Spring Contest.

           Mamma,

          You said you married Dad
                   to get away from
          Your parents’ house.
                   Wrong answer.
          I learned that,
                   but I didn’t feel that, when I loved.
          I heard you say it for
                   years!
          I hope Dad had a lover
                   that remembers him,
          And sweet stolen
                   moments laughing together,
          Just for him,
                   Oh, yeah, he told me he loved you.

The ’49 Coupe Ford ran
the roads, loud muffler noise,
dust rolling
past the road  
ditch, and you
drinking Coke
on the shotgun side.  

The Saxophone
notes wandered up
to gym rafters and
slipped out
broken windows where
English Sparrows
crept in.  The band
played a slow dance,
You held me tight,
Pony Tail Girl.

The water cool on
our dancing feet
wading in Shogolo
Pond.  We watched
the moon’s reflection
drifting with
our hearts together.

A country church is
hot in June, fresh cut
lawn grass hung up in your train.
Your cousin
sang off key.  My uncle got
drunk.
You said you would.
I said okay.
We did,
Pony Tail Girl.