A Soft re-Entry

Downtown Whitefish, Montana

For the few among you who have encouraged me to pick up my laptop and continue entries in my blog, I've decided that it's time. I began this blog thinking that it'd be Didion-esque, a la "The Year of Magical Thinking," where I would track my journey through grief-land. The reality was that I was just too involved in getting myself through than sharing my feelings with all and sundry.

My therapist says that I am safely on the "other' side of grief. I agree, but also know that the death of someone close changes you inextricably and profoundly. I wouldn't want it any other way ~ it's a continuing tribute to Charles and his memory.

Today's will be a short re-Entry. Perhaps part of the problem was that I had no clue or inspiration about how to proceed with this thing, but I think that I do now.

I have been cleaning Charles' and my townhome in preparation for its sale. Of course, this set me on a journey through long-stashed boxes, winnowing through the stuff inside and rediscovery of things forgotten. Among those things was a poem I had written almost twenty years ago for a guy I was dating. I figure what better way to resume this blog than by posting this poem. I'm not really one to write poetry, but I was rather impressed with this, even if it's mine ~ but, perhaps I'm just easily impressed!


for S

if I were a poet
I would gather similes
like sheaves of wheat
comparing you to some bardish fancies
beguiling you with my come-hither glances
I would charm you, disarm you
with odes and sonnets
rhyme couplets as florid as Easter bonnets.

but, alas, my bent is of stodgier fashion
than forger of meter, iambic of passion
what my words cannot say
might be best left unsaid
will you sense by my touch
what's locked safe in my head?

Jack Albrecht, 12/12/1990