Heather

22x30 inches. Oil painting on cold-pressed, heavyweight, cotton rag with ribbed edge paper. 

Walking home ordains the wanderer’s no self, no you.

The rain fell through October, 

shuddered on the front step;

beckoning for shelter and creative sabbatical. 

A fleece vest and the same corduroy jacket

that was my mother’s, and my mother’s father’s, 

a homecoming I seldom know, 

but when I do, I know it well. 

Trying to rush rites of passage is 

to bypass the curtailed– necessary for transfiguration, to defy ritual is to defy realization.

A cursive tail of a comet, toppled over 

into the hem of an old pant leg 

carrying one memory into the next, 

following each other home.