©2021 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Hannah Grace

I like to think
he’s with us still,
a photo on the window sill,
a memory of days gone by,
a shadow in his sister’s eye.

©2021 Susan Noyes Anderson

Photo by Esaias Tan on Unsplash

Soon or late, life teaches lessons
few would choose to learn.
Ours is, at best, a rocky path
with many a twist and turn.

©2021 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Olesia Buyar on Unsplash

You are not on my Christmas list.
A sadder truth was never told.
Your dear name vanished in the mist
with nary a gift to wrap in gold
and no vestige of you to hold.

©2021 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Taneli Lahtinen

Oh what an odyssey it was.
That day, that road. It shredded me.
Climbing tight curves so desperately.
Round edges, lined by rock and tree.
Steep plunges, dropping to the sea.

©2021 Susan Noyes Anderson

The spruce tree missing from your grave
brought me to ground.
Another loss I could not save,
a low blow some thief blithely gave,
the superficial turned profound.

©2021 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Erik Karits

I wrote a poem of you
and your blue eyes,
then took a walk
to read it at your grave.
Arriving there, I found
to my surprise,
no trace of tree
or pot, love-gifts we gave.

©2021 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Erik Karits on Unsplash

This morning, rather suddenly,
the cemetery called to me.
I did not yield; my day was full,
yet every hour I felt the pull.
My washer hummed; my keyboard clicked;
the oven baked; the timer ticked,
but underneath their steady thrum,
I heard your soft song, “Come, come, come…”

©2021 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Egor Vikhrev on Unsplash

The wildfires burn fuel to ashes. I’m melted
and homeless. Adrift in the redwoods,
resilience is theirs, not my own.