LENNART LUNDH

 

Tall Grass

 

A butterfly rests on your cheek.

You wiggle your nose as you sleep,

a smile before you say my name.

 

Part of me wants to know your dream,

a part isn’t sure it’s a good idea,

but my heart says it doesn’t matter.

 

Here, in the field where we lie as one,

you smiled before you said my name,

and my heart laughs with gratitude.

 

Summer, After Noon

 

Robins singing in the Rose of Sharon,

its leaves and branches thick

enough to keep them out of sight

until you get close and silence them,

like the bones of an abandoned life

towering over thickets of thistle

and tall, tightly crowded trees,

not there until you almost walk in,

the front door open just a bit

to let the ghostly voices welcome you.

 

So Soon, Too Soon

 

She has not been killed,

or otherwise bodily injured,

in the fleeing from her home,

finding shelter and freedom

elsewhere, behind the other line.

 

She is tired, hungry,

cold and frightened,

and her young soul

knows just enough

to say, These will hurt

as long as you remember.

 

Still, seated in a broken church,

she is old enough to keep faith

for better days, for years full

with love, and grace, and joy.

And so she folds her hands,

says an honest prayer of thanks

for the simple meal she received,

the over-large, worn, warm coat,

both from a stranger, without asking.

 

(after the 1943 painting Refugee Thanksgiving, by Norman Rockwell)

 

 

On This Journey Of Exploration

 

we have grown older, a good thing if we’re honest, Time passes, stops to leave roots in memories which will intertwine and also change, then moves on, repeats, repeats, adds scars, fears, joys, lines and wrinkles, repeats, repeats, changes the surface of our bodies just when we think we’ve memorized each bit, the cords of your neck, your shoulders and the smooth plain below, becoming deep, quick tributaries merging then joining between your collar bones to form a river flowing into the valley, so that in the dark my old, old fingers can trace them gently, softly, unhurried in taking Time to learn the new landscape and its shared pleasures just as I have with every change since our trek began, as we will together, repeat, rejoice, repeat.

 

Jean Lorraine By Candlelight

 

More than just a photogenic face,

and you will need to work to know her

after you first earn her trust, patiently,

waiting for her to feel comfortable,

to want to spend more time with you

then safe enough to speak with you.

 

More than a woman, though that

will never be unimportant to her,

and should always matter to you,

she is a person, carrying her past

while being reshaped by now

and pondering future secrets.

 

This moment in candlelight,

yesterday at the beach,

tomorrow at the green grocers,

flashing eternities in her arms:

Learn what she feels of them.

Be worthy of their repetition.

 

(after the 1943 photograph by Olive Cotton)

 

LENNART LUNDH

 

LENNART LUNDH: Lennart Lundh is a poet, photographer, historian, and short-fictionist. His work has appeared internationally since 1965.