Thirty-seven.

37

And geese fly over like the sound of my alarm clock.

While the mysterious sounds of Seneca guns pique 

my mind. I wonder have I heard them and am 

convinced I have but was unaware they were what 

they were. Perhaps I thought it was only a fallen tree. 

A deer hunters missed report. The thunderous 

applause of a relief package being passed. The gavel 

on this horrible year. Deep. Hollow. Distant. Sometimes 

lights appear in the distance. Now I am convinced they

have always been a part of my life. There. Looming 

just outside of vision. Like geese, flying over.

Like my alarm clock being pounded into the

nightstand. The lamp going over. Well, 

that explains the lights anyway.

Markle~

22December2020

Thirty-six.

36

I am a historian. I knew this would happen. 

Just not to me. So, here I am cowering

in my room, writing my memoirs in winter

as fear and dread descends over the land.

This primal time of death and loss seems to

wave at us from the other side of grief.

We spend long scary nights waiting for 

the solstice to arrive and light candles to 

bring back the Son into our hearts. While 

awaiting salvation the hardest thing is trust.

Trust that the balance will shift again even 

when we can’t imagine how. The days of 

this world will get brighter. So far it always 

has. Trust me. I’m a historian.

Markle~

20December2020

Thirty-five:

35

Jingle smells, mingle smells

Goat cheese on my plate

Chasing sticks, through the field

Laughing all the HA HA HA

Bells on blond tails ring

Making spirits sprightly 

What fun it is to play along

an intransitive verb to-

night time is the right time for 

away in a mangering no food 

for my thoughts, the little lord 

fauntleroy down played his sweet

head south young man 

head south!

Markle~

16December2020

Thirty-four.

34

The hills are enlivened with the 

sounds of Goths, Visigoths and 

Vandals! Cross this line and that 

invade my sub-conscious

ford my Rhine, cRape my mind

pillage my heart. The Burgundians 

are coming! Gullible! Gullible! 

There’s a giant on the breach! There’s 

a giant on the breach! I used to drink 

Liebfraumilch when I was young 

because it was made by Bavarian 

monks and tasted good with cheese 

then I realized it was named for

The Virgin Mary’s Milk.

Markle~

15Decemburr2020

Thirty-three and a third.

33 1/3

Art may occupy the realm of the spirit, 

but artists do not. 

She mentioned in passing 

that I am as Jude the obscure.

How did I not know this was a thing?

This is a thing?

Now I feel like I’m cheating 

when I look at the Wiki page.

Like reading CliffsNotes on my life

written more than a century ago.

The book report is due yesterday

how can this be unscrupulous?

Artists have bodies as well as souls, 

and bodies must eat.

Markle~

14December2020

Thirty-two.

32

How do I mark the time now?

Is it necessary to count the days? 

Weekends were a big deal when 

I was young. Sunday especial. 

We did chores on Saturday. 

I remember vacuuming the cellar 

stairs. (That was where the cats 

and dogs slept at night.) We went 

to church on Sundays as a family.

Then hung out together afterwords. 

My siblings did the crossword puzzle.

I would paint. Or read. Maybe a walk 

in the wood. Perhaps growth, like 

rings in a tree are a better measure.

Markle~

12/December2020

Thirty-one.

31

Bless me father for I have sinned.    It has 

been umpteen years    and a lifetime lived 

since my                                  last confession. 

I confess father         that I have made love 

to countless women            over the course 

of growing intothisskin.    and I cherished 

them each and every all.              Were they 

concubines? No                  for we were ever 

monogamous in nature               and intent.  

Most of them                     cherished me too 

I should think      but    we will never know 

for isn’t that the intent of courtship? 

To try each other 

on?

Markle~

07November2020