Lights Go Out

On a bedstand
a sprig of lavender dries

over a photo of Father
wearing one of his rare smiles.

A curtain of song
darkens a quartet of windows.

Lori’s hair falls past her shoulders.

From another room,
the news describes the violence

of the ignored
refusing to be the ignored any longer.

She whispers a prayer
for the protesters and law enforcement.

The sky reddens.
She fears the phone may ring.

She settles into her bed.
A block of ice.

The lavender scent
flashes images of her very first dog.

copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

Let Go

When I pray
I forget to add my name
to the long list
of people
I know and knew
for the eternal
to open
their eyes
to universal

Who am I
to forget myself

My mirror image
sees out
of the looking glass
at the sinking weight
of what
I cannot
let go.

copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney