Lenora Rain-Lee Good ---------------- three poems

This While

            --by Lenora Rain-Lee Good

I lie next to you this night

listen to your soft snores

feel your chest move up

move down, enjoy your

body so close to mine

and fear this is

our last time together.

A thousand miles and more

separate our homes; I fear

you won't return,

and I cannot come to you.

Age holds us both

in its iron grip; only one way

for us to break free.

I so want to share

with you the years we have left

to treasure you,

to hold you close and tell you

I love you—

but your heart belongs

to the Salish Sea.

If you ask, will the Sea call me,

allow me to be with you?

You and she have years

together; a history you and I

can never share.

I swing between happiness

you have her to love

and tears it is not me.

I do not sleep while we are

together; I lie awake

listen to  your soft breaths

feel your chest move up,

move down

                    keep you

covered so you don't chill

as you dream of that distant sea

and marvel

you chose me

for at least this while.

Without End

            --by Lenora Rain-Lee Good

i

The clock measures time with

the monotony of a well-made quartz

movement. Barely audible, ticks and tocks

count the minutes of my life;

the pendulum no longer swings

with youthful abandon of self-

absorbed lovers walking through

the park swinging entwined hands

with each step into their future--

a pastel colored dream.

With inexorable precision the

metronome keeps perfect time,

measures the beat of heart,

of song, of life, of death.

The sky grays with predawn light

birds chirp and call the sun.

They live, they sing, they eat,

they die. Where do they bury their dead?

ii

I miss you, I tell my son.

Why? He asks, somewhat surprised

and maybe a little embarrassed.

Oh, I reply, no reason—

maybe the garbage needs taking out.

He laughs, and says

he's going to die. Not soon

I quickly say. No, he laughs

at least not to my knowledge—

but I don't control that.

We all will die. Our bodies

no longer home to our souls.

In his youth, he pictures himself

worldly wise, accepting.

I wonder his reaction when I die

when I can no longer laugh with him

comfort him. How, then will he think

on death's inevitability?

iii

Reiki music softly

repeats on my stereo.

The wind sneaks

a chill into the house.

Birds squabble for

seed and territory.

El Niño disrupts

our weather pattern.

I smile. The

butterfly beats wings

near a mulberry bush

in a land far away.

Kubota-sama Dreams in Silk

            --by Lenora Rain-Lee Good

His hand, steady, gentle

takes narrow bands of silk

places tiny stitches

silk puckers

mini hills, mini canyons

dyes of love.

Vibrant colors emerge

purple     blue     pink     golden

the four seasons

in kimono to grace a wall

to grace a body.

Dreams of silk

flare when the wearer

turns in unAsian haste

to betray western clothes

beneath

garish     loud.

Kimono evoke

samurai

chivalry

gentility of sword

and seppuku.

Poetry interwoven with pain

shimmer together

in narrow

bands of silk

simple

elegant

regal

dreams of Kubota-sama

become kimono.

Inspired by the book Opulence, The Kimonos and Robes of Itchiku Kubota