Books by Denise A. White

(Page 85 after Elizabeth’s fall)

The goose waited for the eyes to appear and the crone dance along with her song that night. During her preening and playing with the ganders’ attention-seeking tactics she had only been periodically aware of the crone. She remembered seeing her decorating the trees with miniature nests and seed, not unlike the ones she had built for her. She had seen her pour the seed and in passing gave thought to the dwindling supply of corn. She knew, however, that the seed was for the songbirds brought North by migrating geese and she really didn’t need the corn anymore.

The last time she was sure the crone was around was when she had heard the turtle’s rough voice. Not seeing her now the goose sang louder and louder until it brought Hal and Gwen out of their place. Looking up the hill toward the nest she saw it stood cold and dark. The goose had grown so used to having her around that she became aware that something was wrong. The eyes always burned bright. She watched and directed the choir this time with a little more quavering in her voice than normal.

She Smiles

I bring you home. Home
to mother, bent of mind
but not of soul.
She smiles.

I bring you home. Home
to mother. You communicate
with pen and pencil.
A good conversation
is held.
She smiles.

And she says, “I like daisies.”

I bring you home. Home
to mother. Eating is
such a chore. You
can only watch
until the food
finally finds
its
way
down.

She smiles
and Alzheimer’s laughs
and claims her.

Dangling Innuendoes

We sat closely like schoolgirls
on park swings.
The creamy-orange icicle ran-
down our wrinkled,
brown, suntanned arms.

The wind had a chill.

Our stories were carried away,
and below, down the hill,
a skateboarder entered our conversation
from time to time.

Spoken words were not important,
it was the creeping air’s touch,
like a razor’s edge through our
minds.

“There is nothing more to be heard.”

We left the swings in the air.

You Called My Name

Green, blue, white foaming waters
of loud rollin waves,
a siren’s song reached
eighteen hundred miles-
and my ears saw the shore.

Two years I steadily came,
as you beckoned my bones,
and through sunshine and rain
again and again-
I became stilled by the steadied roar.

For four years you embraced me
as you silenced the talk
that filled my unquiet head.
But the voice of another
left behind called even stronger.

I went to the home left behind
that echoed still.
But the roar and the songs
even now
call from distant waters.

Engulfed by the steady sound
to the shore I came back once more.