SPEAKING OF ROSE PETALS

SPEAKING OF ROSE PETALS

Once I was walking after a funeral. 
It was over and we were headed to the cemetary.
It hadn't rained in our arid New Mexico town in nine months.
... We came out of the church and were shocked to see it had rained..a lot.
... We never even heard the thunder because of the sad music and crying.
Sometimes sad music and crying makes you miss what you were looking for.
So I forewent the offer for a ride and walked.
As I was walking down the street I noticed a little river of water
Running next to the concrete curb.
It was carrying little bits of trash and small sticks.
But the thing I noticed was a rose petal.
VIBRANTLY red against the gray slate of the brackish water and rock.
The air was so clear that I felt like I could SMELL the red freshness of it.
I tried to match my gait against the rose petals drifting speed.
Sometimes it would slow in a temporary eddy
Other times it'd find a clear path and really pick up tempo.
I still remember seeing a round water drop upon it.
After about a mile and a half I could see the cemetary.
It was just a block away.
Dozens of people in black were mired in morning mourning.
Mere feet before I came to the entrance gate
The petal zipped right quickly
Made a deft pirouette and disappeared down the gutter.
As I walked up I heard my mother's voice,
"Where were you?"
They lowered her into the wet ground moments later

Written by Cecil Smead
Posted on 03-21-13

BLACK AUGUST

BLACK AUGUST

It seems like August always winks out at just the wrong time
Birds and dreams splashing the slate clean with impunity
Every third August we're tricked
Into thinking we'll be combed with grace
But, the sun hits your face
and makes you think of sleek dances on dark Harlem streets
And you'll smile just long enought to make it feel right.

Written by Cecil Smead
Posted on 03-07-13