Nick Graves
Evelyn Romano
Linda Dunk
Lynne Morgan
North Dakota: a Night Train
— Nick Graves
It was bone-break cold in Minot where
the train was stopped, wheels frozen to the rails.
Snow swirled around the three engines,
their brakes locked tight. Air hoses wheezed and
hissed into the bitter night.
Nearby, two hobos fed paper and sticks to
a small campfire, pulled on second pairs of socks,
cursed into greasy coat sleeves and blew their noses
into wool mittens they’d stolen from a budget store.
The wine was gone; empty bottles cast aside.
Conversation—loud, obscene—focused on women,
failed employment and memories of their companion,
quit of life, lying dead in the right-of-way-weeds.
A thaw, not truly Spring but just as welcome,
will come soon, perhaps at dawn, and
with brakes released, the train wheels
will begin to turn on the steel road
toward Texas or the Four Corners.
Two hobos will grab last handfuls of
campfire warmth, locate an open
box-car door and resume their journey
leaving their friend, now wrapped in
makeshift cerements, at his
final destination.
Ball Lightning
— Nick Graves
was gonna have lunch today with dad but then
I remembered he’s dead
so that’s not happening
called mom just to check in but of course
she died before he did and I remember
he was sad for nearly a year or so and stayed
alone in their house like a hobo
eating soup and toast unless his daughter
came by and brought him a sandwich and
a drink or she and I chipped in and
took him to a cafeteria where he found
fault with most of the food
on his plate
we three generally had little to say
that hadn’t been said a hundred times before
but his wife was dead and he missed her and
he wanted to remember things that
probably never happened or that had
happened and I didn’t want to remember
but then he died and I was actually kinda glad
people thought I was cruel and ungrateful
and why didn’t I cry the way I did when
my son died and I thought fuck ’em
my son was so much sweeter than my mom
or my dad and I adored him and I was never afraid of him
holding him was like hugging warm plasma
a bundle of ball lightning that sizzled with
love then vanished
…yeah all of that
every bit of it just
ball lightning…
Kinship
— Evelyn Romano
for Mary Oliver
Clouds in chosen formations, each
a communication, live oaks wild
with moss, trillions of stars I can’t see.
I feel the comfort of unimportance.
The date pygmy palms wait for me.
I run my hands along the sturdy green
stalks. If only I could remember that
touch of love from human hands. Here,
I break the noise of civilizations.
Readers, are you with me?
Do you feel kinship that heals?
A birth of blossoms that stun.
A summer sunrise so pure
you can’t believe it. A distant white
silence calling you home.
Blessing
— Evelyn Romano
for M
A wandering albatross climbs,
glides above mountains,
lost in flight song.
The outline in the bed barely moves
and I know it’s my sister. Her breaths
signal a calm I assume is there, no,
I count on being there. Yes, yes,
she is comfortable.
Her mouth only opens for morsels
of food. No sobs, no screams.
I cling to this blessing,
grasp like a lifeline.
Thirty years before, our mother
bedridden, skeletal, slowly dying.
My sister tells me, “ I might wind
up like her”
Sis’s room is quiet and her head
still. Is she in there?
Yes, yes, she is.
Can I accept each breath as her
gift to herself?
Grandma Lill’s Violets
— Linda Dunk
Three … or four?…terra cotta pots
perch on the wooden window sill
of Grandma Lill’s fourth-floor apartment.
Her window overlooks a courtyard
rimmed on four sides by identical red-brick walls.
Across the yard,
nested like swallows,
neighbors flutter past their own glass by ways.
The occasional wave and cheery, Hi,
breach distance.
Grandma Lill touches the terra cotta pots
that perch on the wooden sill.
Her charm bracelets jingle.
Her rings glitter.
Sun has found the window shade parted.
Softly spotlighted,
Grandma Lill’s African violets brighten the muted space.
Perennial petals of indigo and amethyst
stretch from a single crown of blue-green leaves
furry as kittens’ paws.
Violet Memories…Phantom Stelae…
Nick Graves has been an OLLI member for eleven years. He has taken classes in literature, science, history, sociology, creative writing, poetry, music, politics, technology and lifestyles. Find out more about Nick in the OLLI Connects April 2022 issue entitled Reading Aloud is Allowed.
Evelyn Ann Romano is an award-winning poet whose poetry has been published in numerous journals including Bacopa Review, Sandhill Review, Wordsmith, Chasing Light, New Mirage Quarterly, Palettes&Quills, Cadence, Time of Singing and many others. She is a three-time Tampa Writers Alliance Poetry Prizewinner. Other awards include Mt. Dora poetry prize, New River Poets award and Hillsborough County Library award. Excerpts from her poem, “Love Letter to Tampa” were displayed city-wide at numerous locations as part of the Love Tampa project run by the City of Tampa. Her debut chapbook, “RIPE” was published in 2018 by FinishingLine Press. Her latest chapbook, “Eve Redeemed- A Woman’s Journey” was published in January 2023. Evelyn has been an OLLI member since 2016 and was a member of Lifelong Writers at USF for many years. She is a New Jersey transplant who lives in New Tampa.
Linda Dunk is a former social worker who provided trauma informed therapy to children and their families in a variety of settings, including the Crisis Center of Tampa Bay and Hillsborough County Schools. Her interests include art, poetry, literature, travel and hiking. As a long time OLLI member, she has enjoyed meeting interesting people and opportunities to take classes that provide a stimulating forum.
Lynne Morgan has been an OLLI member since 2015. She enjoys classes about birds, hiking, history, books and politics. Outside of OLLI, she and her husband play lots of golf in the state. One group of friends decided to write a different type of poem to share each month during lunch. This month’s submission is a Haiku.
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