Two Poems by Gerald Storrow
The appetites we brought
To dinner at our house
Were small. Food was good,
But what we wished to eat,
Beyond the veggies and the meat,
Wasn’t on the bill of fare at all:
Meaning for the pain, an ear to hear,
A caring heart weren’t a la carte.
Incomprehension was prix fixe,
And though dessert was sweet,
There was no nourishment at all.
There were times at Sunday dinner
When the snow came down
The way it did today,
And when I didn’t have a single thing to say
To what was said to me, or when
The silences grew long around,
Or voices raised too high,
I’d lose myself in all the powdering.
And once excused, I’d race
To catch odd flakes upon my tongue
And taste a chip of cloudy sky.
Gerald Blake Storrow is a poet and holds a degree from Leslie University in expressive therapy. He is a frequent visitor to Martha’s Vineyard, and his work has appeared in Vineyard Poets 1 and 2.
Poets with a connection to Martha’s Vineyard are encouraged to submit poems to Laura Roosevelt at email@example.com.