Swimming Across Channels
It had been over 7 years
since they ghosted me or
maybe I failed to reach out but
no matter now we are together
at my son’s graduation party
a balancing act between feigned kindness
and silent tolerance lines clearly drawn
in the sand after the separation
My ex-wife’s friend & I unavoidably
exchange pleasantries & she says
she’s engaged but my head swims
and I forget to congratulate her
My ex-father-in-law who
understands what it’s like
to be the odd duck surrounded
by people from the other side
of a family who have no real
interest in him so he skedaddles
so quickly after dropping off a card
I can’t even say goodbye
I see ex-theatre friend Phil &
we fall back into common chatter
his non-profit work & new hobby
swimming across channels
both of us tacitly understanding
very well there may never be
another social occasion where our
paths might logically cross
I sit with my beautiful Brazilian family
munch Costco finger food & cake
look for something to stare at besides
the now foreign people who come & go
like the past 7 years & I see names
carved on a wooden wall that appear
blurred burnt black like scars
harder to read with each passing year
Tending the Fire
So elemental this gathering
our family of night owls
three generations strong
our blazing faces lit by flames
As stars iris-out in coming darkness
we recall past camping trips
and agree that there is nothing
close to lost time sitting around a fire
There is only peace & mystery &
stories & hobo pies I poke around
my garage stores & find cooking irons
and the night is nearly complete
We flip over hot irons in white coals
to avoid burning precious pie
the edges blackened in seconds
this charring part of the process
I crunch into a piece of childhood
warm cherry pie filling runs
down lips crumbs dance fall onto
smoky clothing reserved for fires
Nearly absent wind Even the dams
who cried out for lost calves are silent
My graduating son pokes at hot coals
now it is his time to tend the fire
And this howling silence tells me
not to cry or speak a word--
even when wood pops splitting--
but to just forge another memory
Pushcart Prize-nominated poet Mark Strohschein resides in Washington state. His poems have appeared in Cirque Journal, Flint Hills Review, Bryant Literary Review, Broad River Review, The Milk House and other journals and anthologies. His recently published chapbook, Cries Across Borders, was a semifinalist for Button Poetry’s 2023 chapbook contest.
It had been over 7 years
since they ghosted me or
maybe I failed to reach out but
no matter now we are together
at my son’s graduation party
a balancing act between feigned kindness
and silent tolerance lines clearly drawn
in the sand after the separation
My ex-wife’s friend & I unavoidably
exchange pleasantries & she says
she’s engaged but my head swims
and I forget to congratulate her
My ex-father-in-law who
understands what it’s like
to be the odd duck surrounded
by people from the other side
of a family who have no real
interest in him so he skedaddles
so quickly after dropping off a card
I can’t even say goodbye
I see ex-theatre friend Phil &
we fall back into common chatter
his non-profit work & new hobby
swimming across channels
both of us tacitly understanding
very well there may never be
another social occasion where our
paths might logically cross
I sit with my beautiful Brazilian family
munch Costco finger food & cake
look for something to stare at besides
the now foreign people who come & go
like the past 7 years & I see names
carved on a wooden wall that appear
blurred burnt black like scars
harder to read with each passing year
Tending the Fire
So elemental this gathering
our family of night owls
three generations strong
our blazing faces lit by flames
As stars iris-out in coming darkness
we recall past camping trips
and agree that there is nothing
close to lost time sitting around a fire
There is only peace & mystery &
stories & hobo pies I poke around
my garage stores & find cooking irons
and the night is nearly complete
We flip over hot irons in white coals
to avoid burning precious pie
the edges blackened in seconds
this charring part of the process
I crunch into a piece of childhood
warm cherry pie filling runs
down lips crumbs dance fall onto
smoky clothing reserved for fires
Nearly absent wind Even the dams
who cried out for lost calves are silent
My graduating son pokes at hot coals
now it is his time to tend the fire
And this howling silence tells me
not to cry or speak a word--
even when wood pops splitting--
but to just forge another memory
Pushcart Prize-nominated poet Mark Strohschein resides in Washington state. His poems have appeared in Cirque Journal, Flint Hills Review, Bryant Literary Review, Broad River Review, The Milk House and other journals and anthologies. His recently published chapbook, Cries Across Borders, was a semifinalist for Button Poetry’s 2023 chapbook contest.
