November 11, 2014 at 7:44 am (Dani Clark, Poetry)

He totters toward me, always,

on his way to the commissary

and me, there I am, always,

rushing out of the building with my son,

on the way to school and I, always,

stop because we both like it, a kiss

on the cheek for him and a compliment for me,

that although still far from his 94 years,

I’m always closer to barrenness

than I was yesterday,

and his words cheer me, always.


A routine, this always,

he comes to get some watery coffee

drive back the solitude

by making easy banter,

with the fry cook and the neighbors

who come in and out, always

to get things like milk and eggs

or just candy bars and beer.


But each always,

always has a day

it turns into a once.

And for Clint and me, it was when,

instead of one kiss, I gave him two,

one for each cheek

and he held me closer

like a lover would,

a tear falling from one eye

and said and so sweetly too,

Oh! I could hold you all day.

– Dani Clark


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