as forever
life is spacious
when young—
once sixty,
years become
months, then
rush into pure,
lively moments
each day, I think
about death,
mostly the how
and the when—
will there be pain?
can I sip the awe
of not knowing?
dawn lightens,
for a breath,
all is hushed—
then the squirrel
flicks his tail
as forever
moves closer
than ever
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the waiting times
every day an illness
or a leaving, so unlike
five decades ago
celebrations, storks,
gifts and births
now death lingers,
leaning against
the street post outside
my friends’ homes,
not even in the shadows—
slouchy and bold
flicking an ash
waiting
no, not that—outdated!
with the snap of a finger
I send him away
it’s the Friend who waits
curious, playful
ready to ramble
happy to walk us home
no hat
certainly no smoke
trailing in the air
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the heart of the matter 