Tangled Whispers
On the table, messy tangle
of threads that cannot be read -
you took the decoder book,
left us with three pounds of mush
the colour of canned mushrooms
on gleaming stainless steel.
I feel I should kneel
at this altar of altered state;
this afternoon, your final oratory.
What stories will you share here?
I strain to hear yarns whispered:
You loved the first steps in a fresh snow.
Your eyes creased like ginger crinkles
when you saw your grandchildren.
You once changed a tire in rain
and it changed your life - your wife,
your partner in kitchen waltzes
when that song came on the radio.
The one who gave us this gift
of your final conversation today.
I pause and listen, before
I sever threads of your sweater.
Performed October 26, 2025 at Saint John Voices Open Mic
Previously Shared on my Substack
campfire notebook. 