Illusion

~ Byungafallgren ~ Leave a comment 
Illusion

Wile typing at dawn, I see, in my peripheral
vision, something stirs in the dark doorway
and drag itself toward my desk. Charlie?
I peer under my desk; seeing nothing, I sigh;
the cat's been gone for years now.

On the back porch, I gaze at the sky;
a head of a dragone looms over the cloud
and stares at me before vanishing.
It looks so real; my heart is still jumping.

I saw, in the store, my neighbor. when
I'm about to greet her, she shoots a leery
eyes and turn. What did I do? I want to
poke her head, but I just stared. all that 
morning, the mad eyes stuck in my mind,
like a millions of maggots.

Later that afternoon, she sat on the porch
alone, drinking coffee. I sauntered over.
 She says, "Come, sit."
Grabbing a chair, I studdy her smile and
noticed a swallon sty in her eye smearing her smile.
I laugh; the illusional day!
We chat for a while, as the ladies in gray.

© Byung A. Fallgren

The Empty House

~ Byungafallgren ~ 4 Comments 
The Empty House

There used to be a sign "Welcome"
outside of the front door, now gone;
the weathered garage door, with a 
broken-glass hole, through which 
a lonely ghost to stare at the familiar sign,
propped outside the door to the neighbor;
the ghost wonders, if no one comes, will
they also move away? 

A counselor would say, "Reach out."
A wise one said, "Treat others as you would
like them do for you." If you want them to visite 
you, do it yourself first. It should be mutual,
to be more going and enjoyable.  

--Byung A. Fallgren

Deboning the Bird is an Act of Art

~ Byungafallgren ~ 4 Comments 
Deboning the Bird is an Act of Art

Festive days used to be a pure, playful season
of the family gathering, despite my work,
deboning the bird at the end, which is exclusively mine, which
I didn't complain. Only recently, with age, did I begin
to see the moodiness of my arthritic 
fingers and foot, which prompted me to find
a helping hand, if not, relinquish the duty altogether.

But who would fit for the candidate? 
the males are clumsy, the daughter-in-law 
is a vegetarian, so she avoids meat like
poison. I would like my daughter, but
she lives far away and is seldom around. When 
I was in dilemma, he senses it and nods to me.
I nod back in relief; why haven't I thought of that;
he is actually good in the kitchen. 

Together, we begin to separate the bones
from the meat, like we have been the artists 
of our marriage for decades,
on rainy or sunny days. We smile
at each other, and the work is getting closer
toward completion; with the little zip-lock
bags containing meat; he stores them in the freezer;
so, the dilemma is freed as the bird, until next season.

© Byung A. Fallgren