by Charles Entrekin
Available for $10.00 from your local bookstore or www.amazon.com
Poems from the book
In This Hour
Even in the fog and dark wind
I can feel the tide coming in,
the steady wash and swell,
and sea salt along the shore,
and I try to make myself empty
to no avail.
an avenging angel, one of swift
shadow and sure ending, and I can
almost feel its beating wings,
a predator breaking for cover
in full autumn sail.
But for now
in this hour
the sea’s lapping continues and
it’s like an animal breathing
against the beach. I listen with each
light touch of the surf, and my hand
moves inside your silence, inside
your life and body’s warmth.
January, The Day You Died
for my first wife, Janice Kirkpatrick Entrekin, 1943-1966
Back and forth to work
reading Wuthering Heights,
on the bus with Catherine
and Heathcliff, umbrellas,
five o’clock faces and I see,
I see you in the street,
wine-colored skirt, blue tennis
sneakers, stepping from the curb
past the corner of my eye — horns
and the open door, rush hour
traffic. Everywhere wet hair,
the black ordinary coats,
a flower store. Never there.
A small dog barks. Distant.
A trick of the mind to see you today
in California, so many years into darkness,
and under the awning, standing
beside a can of white, gold-centered
daisies, I no longer ask why. Rain
dances the sidewalks. It’s Wednesday.
We have nothing to say.
Who sits in
my car and tells me
he’s not afraid; twelve now,
he explains how all his friends’ parents
and I think how ferociously he played soccer
today, and suddenly I am afraid.
I don’t want it to happen, for
the coming days of my absence
to become a lost language.
I remember nights
standing by your bed before sleep,
before you even knew I was possible,
and I knew for the second time
that I was not alone. And I remember you
on the slopes, skiing, when you,
bending far down into a tuck
as we raced for the bottom, laughed
out loud in the gathering speed.
And giving into it, I went with you,
leaning into the wind.
I will never
let you go
out of my life. Listen, Caleb,
just as it was that day,
skiing down the mountain,
even in full flight
a way always opens
at our feet.