Honey Poem by Vanessa Waltz

I (Anticipation)

The moon is high in the sky
On the steps near the big bushes
We could almost touch the
Moon, moon, cocky moon

The bags are packed
And between the layers
Tiny trinkets, treasures, fish
Flashes of gold, pure gold
A fish on a chain
She is coming

The smell of good leather
And French perfume
The softest hands with
Sparkling fingers

Oranges and orange gum
In a juice-shaped box
Little box of saccharine
Cigarette case and kitchen counter
Muffin pizzas and cheese muffins
Croydens

And time and time and time

II (Change)
The moon is low in the sky
But far, far, far from here and there
Don't touch it
Hurts to touch it

Skin so soft it tears
Purpling, mottled
Needlepoint pillows
Out of place
She is leaving

Saccharine bittered
Still pure gold
Unfiltered
Honey

III (Fog)
And not far from the sea
The morning smell of ocean
Take the day off
Go for a drive
Cadillac leather motion

And not far from the bedroom
We climbed aside our gem
Electric blankets
Welcome in
The little bed between them

And not far from the perfect time
A time of shattered sadness
The loss that time
Could never heal
No end in sight of madness

A blessing that she could forget
The losses she had weathered
Like clouds that leave the morning skies
Upon which hearts are tethered

And not far from the coming light
Some part of her could feel
Husband, son
Would come for her
She would again be real

And not far from the end
The mourning smell of rain
A day, a night
Dim the light
The end to all her pain


(For Frances Freedson,1918-2012)