The Writers

Evening Rain

2010-08-15T17:48:00.000-07:00

by Dave Stover

Her eyes open to the evening rain
Lips bidding the night on,
She, the silver pearl, lacy bodice
Unbuttoned by ivory smooth fingers
Twisting, the furtive glances, a half-sung
Tune fading into swirling movements
Before the hot embers.

I followed her into an evening’s reverie
Every vibration pulsing as beats on an
Eternal clock
Pausing to wish its continuance.

Connected with another glance,
A surprise tear caught and salty.
Mesquite and pine aromas mixing

A burdened beginning, masking a fear
Of repeat rejections, unable to avoid
Going on, keeping all joy of the moment
From drowning out cries to end . . .

But I awakened finding myself pleading.
Go away from my life, beaten, broken
Endlessly despairing the failures
Needing denying pleasures, ashamed.

Don’t come near but you don’t listen
Your finger to my lips, silence;
A body rising, curling around, the rapture returns.
A shroud enveloping, eternity returns.
Another tear, my own, drops
Eyes closing in the evening rain.

The Heartless Indifference

2010-08-14T21:17:00.000-07:00

by Dave Stover

I
Cells buried but accumulating
masses, wrapping around
absorbed into undistilled parts,
calling to their healthy neighbors;
the completed, coupled
unrestricted, and unafflicted.

II
The cells, taking sides,
steal life, happiness. Dispassionately
…“slumped in her wheelchair, a portable
oxygen tank at her side,” the cells
stand watch, active gate keepers, oblivious
to tears, sobbing, dreams vanishing, scars
occurring, returning, tumors expanding.

III
The heartless indifference, a cold hairless
scalp as if shorn to display another icon
to the human’s transient nothingness.
The grandchildren look at the “strawberry
blonde wig,”
fixed stares processing the scene of life,
maybe death. Not responding.

IV
The cells indiscriminant but taking sides
don’t care. They steal life. They are happy
at destroying happiness.
“Cancer,” she said, “and needles.
I hate needles. Hate’em.”

**** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****

Quotes from The Denver Post, Feb 1, 2009
Grandmother, teen share cancer – and love

Published in the Progenitor, 2009
Arapahoe Community College
Littleton, Colorado

Teddy! You’ve Changed

2010-08-14T20:59:00.001-07:00

I remember you, Teddy Bear,
your scraggly, scruffiness, after
years of being thrown, punched,
used to beat my brother, strung up,
jumped on and occasionally
taken to bed because I cared.

You, two-toned brown
and dusty gray friend,
with rips under your stubby arms,
threads where eyes once rolled,
a little red tongue, now torn,
just hanging as if panting.

I wonder where you are now?

Oh, surely not one hundred feet
deep in a land-fill. Oh, maybe
you have been transformed.

I hear your name being called, Teddy.
I hear you are now multi-colored,
with striping. You are silken,
with lacing and shimmering.
You can even be folded!

Teddy! You've Changed!
But I still want to see you
and touch you, even though you
may belong to another.
Maybe we could arrange a meeting.
You could bring your friend.
Males don't usually have them
but we could call it a sleep-over.

Wouldn't that be fun,
just to touch you again.

**** **** **** **** **** ****

Published in the Progenitor, 2008
Arapahoe Community College
Littleton, Colorado