October Afternoon
Leaving one of the cars in the faraway lot
we drive out together—unbound, planless.
We pass through our town’s narrow road
leave shops, cafés, walkers behind
wind uphill savoring closeness, sense
the welcome of trees dressed in amber
the caress of the breeze brushing cool
on my cheek and your hand.
Away from there, where we were
a new town, a river, a boat dock.
A chance to walk out, follow impulse
step down the steep ramp to a boat
on the mooring—empty, unclaimed
and inviting. The day slows and is still.
Ripples cuddle the sides of the boat,
our impromptu retreat. Afternoon sunlight
falls slant on soft waves. A man passes by
on some errand unknown and is gone.
Here we rest, floating, rocking a little
breathing as one in shared silence
—this moment, this silence, ours alone.
The original version of this poem was published in Porter Gulch Review, 2013.
Late Summer Sunlight
Remembering Fariba
July has passed into August
summer fog gives in to the sun
sunlight streams her hair silver
now softly grown out
since she halted the chemo.
I sit at the foot of her bed
and she offers me tea,
concerned for my comfort
insists that I sample the candies
and nuts that cover her table
—offerings of the visitation procession.
Pots of flowers mark the passage of days
as we breathe in a cocktail
of lavender-rose-and-carnation.
From my spot on her bed
my hand senses the ice of her feet
—the fingers remember the chill
on the cheek that was my mother’s.
July has passed into August
sunlight streams through her hair.
She makes no plans for September.
The original version of this poem was published in Homestead Review, 2011
Seasons Quartet
cherry blossoms in spring rain
a young girl’s tears
sorrow washed in promise
•
fields of undulate grasses
stillness vast timeless
silence of women
•
fog ribbons thread green hills
sun-flung gold light-shadow shimmy
chiaroscuro dreaming
•
ice glitters on bare branches
radiance startles blinds
dazzle of insight
The original version of this poem was published in Poetry Pacific, 2015
Marina Romani lives in Monterey, California, where solitary walks along the coast often stimulate her to write, but triggers to new poems might be random events, observations, memory, or dream. Her work has appeared in various print or on-line literary magazines, including the CWC Literary Review, Homestead Review, Porter Gulch Review, Poetry Pacific, and previous issues of Monterey Poetry Review. In her first book, Child Interwoven (2016), Marina combines poem and prose as she reflects on her Russian girlhood in China during World War II and its aftermath. Her second book, Chiaroscuro Eye, published just this spring, is a set of twenty-two poems that view experience through interplays of light and shadow.
Leaving one of the cars in the faraway lot
we drive out together—unbound, planless.
We pass through our town’s narrow road
leave shops, cafés, walkers behind
wind uphill savoring closeness, sense
the welcome of trees dressed in amber
the caress of the breeze brushing cool
on my cheek and your hand.
Away from there, where we were
a new town, a river, a boat dock.
A chance to walk out, follow impulse
step down the steep ramp to a boat
on the mooring—empty, unclaimed
and inviting. The day slows and is still.
Ripples cuddle the sides of the boat,
our impromptu retreat. Afternoon sunlight
falls slant on soft waves. A man passes by
on some errand unknown and is gone.
Here we rest, floating, rocking a little
breathing as one in shared silence
—this moment, this silence, ours alone.
The original version of this poem was published in Porter Gulch Review, 2013.
Late Summer Sunlight
Remembering Fariba
July has passed into August
summer fog gives in to the sun
sunlight streams her hair silver
now softly grown out
since she halted the chemo.
I sit at the foot of her bed
and she offers me tea,
concerned for my comfort
insists that I sample the candies
and nuts that cover her table
—offerings of the visitation procession.
Pots of flowers mark the passage of days
as we breathe in a cocktail
of lavender-rose-and-carnation.
From my spot on her bed
my hand senses the ice of her feet
—the fingers remember the chill
on the cheek that was my mother’s.
July has passed into August
sunlight streams through her hair.
She makes no plans for September.
The original version of this poem was published in Homestead Review, 2011
Seasons Quartet
cherry blossoms in spring rain
a young girl’s tears
sorrow washed in promise
•
fields of undulate grasses
stillness vast timeless
silence of women
•
fog ribbons thread green hills
sun-flung gold light-shadow shimmy
chiaroscuro dreaming
•
ice glitters on bare branches
radiance startles blinds
dazzle of insight
The original version of this poem was published in Poetry Pacific, 2015
Marina Romani lives in Monterey, California, where solitary walks along the coast often stimulate her to write, but triggers to new poems might be random events, observations, memory, or dream. Her work has appeared in various print or on-line literary magazines, including the CWC Literary Review, Homestead Review, Porter Gulch Review, Poetry Pacific, and previous issues of Monterey Poetry Review. In her first book, Child Interwoven (2016), Marina combines poem and prose as she reflects on her Russian girlhood in China during World War II and its aftermath. Her second book, Chiaroscuro Eye, published just this spring, is a set of twenty-two poems that view experience through interplays of light and shadow.