a poetry e-zine










Poems By Michael Keshigian

It was a day in January, all snow and clouds,
the kind that usually gave him
no choice but to zip his coat
deep into his neck and run quickly
from the car toward the house.
He hoped the fireplace burned
with hot chocolate steaming
on the table next to the recliner,
a volume of Keats nearby
to complete the scenario.
He remembered a squirrel
and two lost crows
replete in gray garb and black down
in search of morsels,
the tiny imprint of hops in the snow.
He felt the day yielding,
offering him a moment,
each one scampered by
but he failed to chose,
distracted instead by yesterday
and her all too elusive cousin, tomorrow.
Was his father's departure
on a train with a smoking black lung
fate or a hereditary crap shoot?
Perhaps, more importantly,
what dish will the future serve
and who will be around the dinner table?
The priceless moments pressed on,
squandered by unanswerable interrogatories.
All he wanted was to be a kernel
in the husk of time
but today he floated in from the family plot
on the cold winter breeze.
He slapped the face of Keats closed
and stared at the flame,
watching the sparks dissipate into the flue,
giving each a name of someone he knew.

Michael Keshigian is a performing musician and college educator in Boston . His most recent publication credits include: Ghoti, Bellowing Ark, Ibbetson Street, Boston Literary Magazine (w/interview and featured poetry) and Pegasus Review, among many other online and written periodicals. He has five published chapbooks, two Pushcart nominations and a Best Of The Net Nomination.

Copyright 2007  Chantarelle's Notebook