She so loved the world...
Book 1
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
THE VISIT
My cottage lay sturdy against the winds of the sea.
The power was lost hours ago not uncommon here
Only the moonlight from the West
Acknowledges the cottage even exists
The swell crashes against ancient rocks
Where sea creatures dwell usually visible by day
Hiding in small caves far beneath the rage of the tide
The mist a nightmare for the ships out at sea
The crashing spews out a small boat like a cork
Bow resting on the shoreline just ahead of the pulling waves.
A visitor, wet slick clothes
Shivering yet he survived
Remarkably unbroken he appears at the door
From where he came is not immediately known
But his eyes are lit up by luminescent light off the shore
A full moon behind him as he stands on the steps
In his hand a small pack no larger than the size of a small leather sack
His hair wildly disheveled.
His beard salted but slick and tidy
His wet hair and face weathered
More from age than from the ocean.
I wave him inside; my flashlight silently flutters
Amidst the wheezing rattle of the window shutters
The wind is resolute that a larger storm is nearing.
There, a yellow rose bud pinned into his belt,
Something a woman might wear; a token of devotion.
Not recognizable by family bloodline
Thinner than I had seen him last
Eyes are grey and hooded
His first words of greeting sound garbled
A rush of syllables off the tip of his tongue
He is my brother by adoption
And his presence here at my sanctuary, not welcome.
He follows me into the kitchen
A coffee pot almost dry still brewing on the old wood stove
So, I look into the icebox and pull each a beer
He wants to talk about her, I can tell
He tries hard to be friendly
Its going to be one of those nights, I fear.
Long ago, and overnight, he came to us at five years of age
I was only six, and he was taller still
We never got along after he punched me a couple of times
Bullied by him and his friends
We had to attend separate schools
Two lives could not have more differently unfolded
It had always been so even now at age fifty-seven.
Mom died just two weeks past
And in broad daylight, in this house, was her last
Appearing to me for ninety seconds or so
And I swear she just smiled, her sweetness aglow
The news of her death by letter quite a blow.
I have lived in Grandad’s island cabin some ten years now
Never needed to leave but for groceries, some mail
No computer, no visitors, a life undetected
The reclusive son is not likely to go
To a funeral where my kid and wife are likely to show
The divorce happened quickly and my role in its demise uncontested.
My brother departed the very next morning
The sun was accepting a cloudless re-entry
The storm passed, and the air was freshening
The talk between us siblings had ended late but gently
He left the satchel on the ledge of the window facing the sea
My mother’s letters, a silver cross, a prayer card and a plastic keepsake
I clutched them all together into my face, a blast of heartache
A deluge of tears brings my grief to a close
A brother I would likely never again see
Had made the visit I dreaded into one of sharing together
And with him, he had brought the symbolic heart of our mother,
A small yellow rose.
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About the Book
The poems chosen for this book 1 have been singularly written over periods of weeks to months and some even longer. I have been writing poetry for leisure and for over thirty years. Some of my poems were written as early as 1978. I joyfully share them, given the poems selected for this book have special personal meaning. My poems recount tales of city life, of spiritual destinations, of human conflict. My poems come from personal experience and from stories told to me over my lifetime.
About the Author
Reflecting on seven decades of personal experiences, spanning from the 1950s to the present day, Dr. Dean Powers uses poetic imagery to silhouette the presence of divine love amid human strife and heartbreak. His poems strike at the core of life on a planet in trouble and the stories of those who struggle with the meaning of life and whether there is life after death. Influencing his poetry have been a multitude of experiences of living in a cosmopolitan city, backpacking into the wilderness since the age of twenty-one, and his work over the course of forty years with people of various disabilities and functional challenges. The author’s ancestors, on his mother’s side, are French-speaking Metis from the Ottissippi Region around the Detroit/Windsor and Lake Erie Region. His father was a refugee, leaving Poland with his mother and three siblings just before the German invasion in the mid-1930s.