Comrades in Grief
For David

We are finally together.
How we loved the blessed,
but it is only you and I now.
We must drink each other
like holy wine as though
we can never get enough
knowing the morning light
could vanish at any moment.

 

Strikes

My father loved to savor a rainstorm.
I’d join him under the corrugated, green
fiberglass held up by wrought iron
scrolled posts. We’d sit in those circular
straw chairs that are now all the rage.
I’d shriek as lightening pierced the sky,
and thunder crashed and rumbled.
Dad would say, There he is. That’s Rip
Van Winkle bowling. We’d listen.
That’s a strike. I’d breath in the metallic
air cheering Rip’s perfect score
knowing the stormy evening with my
father was perfect as well.

___________________

Donna Reis is the author of two full length poetry collections: Torohill (Deerbrook Editions, 2022) and No Passing Zone (Deerbrook Editions, 2012), which was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is co-editor and contributor to the anthology, Blues for Bill: A Tribute to William Matthews (The University of Akron Press, 2005). More at: https://www.donnareis.com/