Melinda Kemp Lyerly

Mr. Bonardi’s Goodbye
By Melinda Kemp Lyerly

Uninvited, the slant of morning
invades her forlorn kitchen, creeping
over an uncharacteristic garden
of stained china cups and soggy tea bags
that grow amongst apple butter knives,
and teary, twisted napkins.

By the window, pale depression
glass cradles a lone, aging rose
so carefully placed
after Mr. Bonardi’s funeral
two bleak Wednesdays ago.
Its thornless stem stabs brokenly
through her heart and cloudy water,
broadening to the tumble of unfolding petals
and fifty anniversaries past. They fall,

one by one, spilling
across the sill in the scattered light
of quiet crystal grief. She counts each one
like her memories, filled with laughter, tears;
bound in joy, enveloped
by his deep rumble reciting poems of love
in counterpoint to soft, adoring sighs.

The last petal fluttered its parting,
leaving the naked rosehip nodding
like an understanding head.
She rises; places this petal in her palm,
traces it with a trembling finger
and smiles in soft wonder,
this petal, perfectly...

in the shape of a heart.

She holds it to her own, a miracle;
hope growing in this farewell gift.

Tears and teacups are washed,
then put away; red petaled goodbyes
are pressed between the pages
of his favored book of poetry.
With a determined sigh,
Mrs. Bonardi opens the door.

She pulls his warm memory
around her shoulders,
adjusts her courage for a hat
and with his love in her pocket,
steps into the day.

Early Morning, By a Well Traveled Road
By Melinda Kemp Lyerly

By this still pond,
not far from the rushing road,
a graceful brown crane watches me,

watching him...

one slender leg
rooted, reed-like, in halcyon shallows...

the other,

suspended above, dripping liquid light
into silvered water, reflecting heaven.

Attendant pines,
wearing thick cowls of mist,

whisper prayerfully,

“cherish,
cherish...”

      The crane listens,
                            carefully,
                 reverent beneath the muted rising sun.

“cherish,
cherish...”

I join the chorus with a word, in counterpoint,
exhaled softly, upon a sigh--

“ Life...”

Indigo
By Melinda Kemp Lyerly

In the still of indigo,
I rise to gather the hush
of quiet thoughts,
while away in darkness,
her measured breath
ekes out the innocence
that remains, comforted
in what peace slumber brings.

My lips and tongue modulate
softly corded vocals
carefully strumming the song
that lullabies the moon
and cajoles the sun into day.
This time is mine, alone,
wherein strength is forged.

I place these moments in my pocket
to be pulled
at the rush of noon,
the crush of three...
when tears come,
when words must learn to be enough,
and fingers search out fingers, intertwining
hearts, hope... healing.

Then, when alone,
when the late hour
tugs at weary eyelids,
when the cadence of love’s breath
finally slows to sleep,
what remains must become
sustenance for dreams
that see me through ‘til indigo.

Three Days After the Vernal Equinox
By Melinda Kemp Lyerly

                            In fullness of fragile expectations,
              sweet weeping plum blossoms
            emerge
                              unfurling delicate petals, earnestly--

Spring speaks too soon.

Embraced by a killing frost,

Hope comes still born.

Moon Child
By Melinda Kemp Lyerly

The moon was nothing to you then--
merely a hole, rubbed through the darkness
and I had a way of wondering
that you could not yet know, in me
but three months, wanting and waiting...

I felt the stirring of your questions
borne on matters of existence,
restless in amniotic sea bed, blood and saltwater
so alike, warm and wombed within.
A bold, insistent being, in defiance
of your tenuous hold, impatiently
demanded,

‘Who are you?
Do you know how to love?’

This nexus of reality and emotion revealed,
candled in the illumination of that wide, benign face;
you were my own slowly waxing moon
and my body’s most singular treasure;
I answered in earnest reply,
a psalm, softly sung...

'I am your ship and navigator, your berth in a storm,
a starsailor and earthdancer...
Come be with me
and we will journey across the skin of this world
and discover its mysteries, together'...

Giddy with the truth of you, he found us,
called from warm bed, pulled
by an unseen thread tied to the moorings of your tiny heart,
and to these arms, wrapped around
my low-slung moon, cradled
under a lustrous and silent glow
by bones that knew no purpose before him,
blood that coursed without reason before you...

Muscle moved in hope, sinew drew him in,
the taste of mingled breath
a joining of earth, sea and sky
upon my tongue,

so sweet...

With knees planted in moist soil,
and moonbeam fingers upon my thigh, he caressed
warmth into naked, night-cooled flesh.
Pressing lips on our shared fullness,
he encircled the rise of rounded navel,
with gentle O...
answering queries of umbilicaled connections,

you were kissed into our heart.

Tribute
By Melinda Kemp Lyerly

In the dark of the hedgerow,
past the edge of the wood,
glimpsed by the pale, cool light
of the cat’s eye moon,
night creatures catch their breath as she passes--
a soft shadow on silent paws,
stalking life.

A spotted toad burrows deep
under dark, wet leaves;
the thrush draws her nestlings close beneath
muffling wings.

The unfortunate field mouse scurries,
skittering across loose twigs,
letting slip a frightened squeak,
betrayed
to rapid pounce and keen claw;
solitary Huntress,
lithe beauty wrapped in feral lust.
Swiftly, death comes;
small, bright droplets of crimson sacrifice
spill to the forest floor.

The fading moon
winks out beneath the horizon
and the forest, in relief, exhales slowly.
The sun is rising.

Purring proud satisfaction,
she offers me, in a dignified,
loving gesture, her tribute, laid at my feet,
then slips through the open door,
to claim her patch of sun
and guiltless slumber
in the warmth of her early morning window.

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