Years

He and his wife treated us to baseball,
Good seats on the first base line.
We cheered home runs with them,
Shared popcorn, joked, talked family.
Time passed, and there were gaps.

Until I saw them just now in the drug store,
As his cool, spotted hand gripped mine
With a “heyyyyy …”

And we wavered in that pause,
His hand letting go slowly,
His eyes roaming helplessly
Through the friendly wilderness of me.

— ED BRICKELL

Ed Brickell is a Soto Zen practitioner living in Dallas, Texas. His poems have appeared or will appear soon in Modern Haiku, Frogpond, Copperfield Review, Beatnik Cowboy, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, and Lothlorien Poetry Journal.