The cry of a Flicker, the funny urgent chatter of a Gray Squirrel,
the acorn whack on a barn roof—are signs enough.
Walking from home---
Orange Road to Mountain Way--
my steps flag, then lighten.
The dogwood leaves wave crimson.
A cardinal in a maple sings
sharply, like a temple bell.
I climb to Mountain, then turn.
I lost an earring today,
put the other in a drawer,
a collection of ones, unmatched.
I will throw them all away,
I gave away
the dress I wore to a houseboat
party in the sixties,
The red-blazing azaleas in the garden,
the Japanese temple bowls that we daily use,
these, too, I will lose.
You whose presence makes my life whole,
even the wholeness of my own body,
I will lose.
Broeck Wahl Blumberg, a mostly retired correspondent for Diamond Publications of Japan, does articles based on interviews with U.S. scholars and policy makers. Her poems have appeared in Snow Monkey, The Meadowland Review, the website Poets OnLine, and On the Outside Looking In, an Off-Off Broadway play, 2009. A native of Paris, Tennessee, she escaped to travel, working in E. Africa, making five trips to Japan and an odyssey by sea from Athens to Bangkok. Now, she is traveling mostly in her apartment in Montclair, NJ, with her husband of forty-three years, Aryeh Blumberg.
Banner photo by Kerry O'Gorman