Friday, December 28, 2012

When the Weather Breaks


I wonder sometimes,
if less crime is committed
in the dead of winter?

Do thieves and murderers
choose to stay inside
where it's warm
and wait for the weather to break?

If that is so
then I will move to Siberia

but then,
men are angry there too
because they have no food
and icicles cling to their beards

so that won't work

I should just forget about
the angry people
and maybe . . .
they'll forget about me.

Joanne Cucinello  2012

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Father of My Heart

Remembering my Dad who left this world
December 1, 1994 . . . always remembered.
always loved.

You visit me in dreams
sometimes . . . silent always . . .
often in disguise,
my father, who was seldom silent
has no tongue to speak now
in that world of spirits.

The passing years
attempting to erase
the sound of your voice
the way you spoke my name
 . . . that smile
the one I memorized
that kept you just for me
 . . . my father.

Death came for you
swift and unexpected
on that rainy night
in a drunken car that raced
to claim you for its own.

We who loved you still
were set to cheer
and celebrate your life
of eighty years . . .
in just a few short days
but that was not to be
 . . .was it?

Instead we gathered,
the five of us, around your
wooden overcoat
to cry and weep remembering
how in childhood
we made you promise
not to die.

You would have danced with me
that night and with my sisters
the way you always did
when the old songs played
those limber feet
across the floor with ease
shaming men much younger
but that was not to be
 . . . was it?.
No, sweet Father . . .
that delight was saved for heaven.

Daddy  . . . was your name,
since that first day I could utter it
and crawl upon your lap
since the first day you looked into my eyes
with your great soft love.
Daddy . . . you were always mine.

I remember how you walked inside my life
carrying me on your shoulders
so many times
telling me how I was always wanted
always loved . . .
coming to my rescue
through all those teenage fears and blunders.

Daddy . . . you had such a special heart
strange to some who'd scoff
at your devotion
but what would we have done
we five little stars
without your steadfast love
that dark-remembered day
when Mama blew the roof
off of our house
and let the demons in?

Joanne Cucinello

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