Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

'Close' only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades

That's what my Mom said

When I told her the game was close--

The one where she beat me

placing wooden tiles on the board to make words

PLAGERIZE

        R

        OAK

        W

        NOISE

Her smile unfamiliar but warm;

Her hands like mine--long fingers, short nails.

The sun was dropping outside;

Her energy too.

She must sleep now--

Next to the large metal fan that whirred away the world

and changed my voice when I stuck my face in it. 

TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER

I would be shushed to bed.

At midnight she would put on her white pants, white top, white shoes with large white soles

Place plastic ear plugs around her neck

The ones where I could hear my heart beat if I put the metal circle on my chest

Lump dump lump dump

The same way it beats now, only faster

because I know you are leaving

And when I arise, you will still be gone

The tiles still out on the table to fidget with

Reminding me

We are not horseshoes and hand grenades.

Copyright Hope A. Horner, 2023. Use with permission only. Contact author on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/hopeh1122 Follow on Twitter @HopeNote

Grief

As soon as the hush falls,

In every lifeless lull,

Your name repeats in my ears.

Memories of you

both fond and fatal,

flash and flicker

On an endless loop in my mind,

Like an old TV in a store front window.

The picture is blurry and wavy

And the sound undermined by a hiss.

I should move on.

But

I stop and listen;

Stand and stare;

Until my ears ring,

My eyes sting,

Until the hush lifts,

The lull is dismissed

By someone on the street who asks

What are you looking at?

Are you OK?

I point 

But they see only a window.

I walk on in the rain.

Copyright Hope A. Horner, 2023. Use with permission only. Contact author on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/hopeh1122 or on Twitter @HopeNote / RIP Cali 2012-2023