I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Month: April 2022
I am old, he said,
not in regret but as fact.
Tea splashed on the table as
he tried to offer hospitality. All
he could afford. Too many days
between pension cheques,
not enough time to enjoy them.
His smile was genuine,
teeth brown or broken.
I have no milk. His head shook.
His hands shook.
I take it clear, I replied.
A smile again, not as long
but very real.
Conversation
revolved around
a story he heard
on talk radio,
or memory.
More tea?
He spoke about dust, as if
it meant something; where
it travelled, why it settled.
Everything begins in the wind,
he paused to catch his breath
or to let the words find
a more profound meaning.
It never lets up.
He was old.
His small room smelled
of cheap aftershave,
stale cigarettes, and loneliness.
He welcomed me, regularly,
as he would anyone
with time to spend.
It was all he could offer.
Tea and dust.
© 2018 j.g. lewis
Posted on April 8, 2022 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
I got my 4th shot yesterday.
It seemed like the right thing to do.
We are not done with COVID-19, or
this virus is not done with us.
Take care of yourself.
04/08/2022 j.g.l.
Posted on April 7, 2022 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
You think about it
too much, too often.
That which
remains unsaid
drowns out the noise that
does not matter.
What mattered once
is not long forgotten.
What happened to the time?
I used to wonder.
I still do.
04/07/2022 j.g.l.
