Granddaughter After
She found the ex-convict on the dark web.
Memory of it flenses like ravens on roadkill.
The pills dampen the stink of him
and she forgets about hanging herself.
My son chokes when he calls us. I keep losing my phone.
We had dreamed of gentler lessons for our children.
She posts a selfie in white make-up posing as a corpse.
I use the word hellbent now.
The River’s Time
After the narrow weeks—
of harrowing and hospice—
so many lost, so many gone,
so many done.
I will wade into the McKenzie River
in the noonday swelter
to be cooled and washed.
The locked closet of my chest
Will open and breath.
The sun through the evergreens
will cast its filigree
on the river and me
and for a brief timeless time
I’ll drift in water’s wander.
George Singer has been published in several national journals. A book of poems, Ergon, was published by Wordtech Press. A Zen Buddhist monk for several years in his 20’s, he later served as professor of special education at UC Santa Barbara. Today, he lives with his life mate and two dogs who safeguard them from squirrels at their home where he writes and meditates.
Chantarelle's Notebook 